


In Sickness and in Death

by dreamsaremadeofthis



Category: Actor RPF, Pinto - Fandom, Pinto de Mayo 2019 - Fandom, Star Trek RPF, pinto de mayo - Fandom
Genre: All those things you've always noticed but never thought they meant anything, Angst, Everybody Comforts, Family, Injury, Like family we all wish we had, M/M, Protective Zachary, Sacrificial Love, Secrets, Terminal Illness, Totally fabricated AU - No Chris was actually harmed in the writing of this fic, Wordplay as foreplay, Zach's POV, friends to....., lies lies and more lies thinking they protect others from pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsaremadeofthis/pseuds/dreamsaremadeofthis
Summary: Chris keeps working back to back to back projects without a break. Zach's starting to wonder if there's a reason his best friend is pushing himself so hard.Not to mention, there's been a major change in Zach's life that  Chris needs to hear about from him, not from gossip pages. But Chris hasn't returned a call or text in days...Everyone teases Chris about how much he eats. And his klutziness is legend. They never considered there might be more to it...





	1. Chapter 1

_Come on, Pine..._

_Need to tell you something..._

_Man, stop ignoring my texts..._

_You’ve turned me into a stalker, asshole!..._

_Look, sorry. I just think..._

_Why are you running yourself into the ground?..._

_That’s all I meant..._

_You’re driving me crazz!..._

_Crazy! See?..._

_Look, get back to me soon as you can K?..._

_Shit’s going down...._

_You need to hear it from me..._

 

I close out texts for what must have been the hundredth time and jam my phone back in my pocket. A little too aggressively, if threads popping on my newest skinny jeans is any indication. But fuck it, Chris has ignored my calls and texts for almost two weeks now. At this point, I figure either we’re no longer friends or he’s chunked his phone against a wall or into the bay or something—always a very real possibility with Pine. He detests the things. But I need him to hear about the press release from me, not from some gossip rag.

Walking briskly down Broadway to meet up with my brother, Joe, at the coffee shop before he heads back home to LA, I pull my collar and scarf tighter around my neck against the bitter New York wind, hoping that somewhere between the exercise, my brother, and an extra hot soy latte, at least one of them might take the edge off my worsening mood. And more importantly, off my best friend's cold shoulder treatment, which at this point is much more biting than the weather.

Holding the door open for a harried young woman herding two squirmy children, I then step inside, surprised to see only a few people in line ahead of me to order. I bask in the welcome heat while unwrapping my scarf, quickly receiving my steaming hot cup, which the barista had labeled “Sylar.”  God, it's been almost a decade. Does it never end? Course, long as those residuals keep pouring in, they can label my drinks by any of my S-roles they choose.

I claim a table in the corner where we'll be able to talk more privately, and as I mindlessly sip my latte, I again wrack my brain for anything specific I’d said or done that could have pissed Chris off so badly he'd totally cut me off. Chris has always at least given me a chance to clear up shit when I screwed up...or whatever the hell has him clammed up tighter than Fort Knox. Pine’s always been a fair guy.

It seems to me Chris has jumped off into the deep end. He's gorgeous, financially set, and has no real ties that would make him feel...I don't know...pressured to work himself into the ground like this, churning them out back to back like he's been doing since filming  _Beyond_. For the past year and a half, he’s been walking off one set and showing up the following day at the very next project, no time to even breathe or reboot in between.

And there are always endless pics posted, documenting his every public move, practically tracking him into the john. I could count on one hand how many days down time the guy's taken in the past two years, except for a very publicized vacation on some yacht months ago. Photos showed even then, he was reading books or scripts or running lines. I always keep up with him, especially when we haven't seen each other for awhile. We've always still touched base several times a week, no matter where in the world we were. Although I wouldn’t have minded missing some of the images of those...interesting vaca outfits, and I feel pretty damned proud how I'd restrained myself from razzing him about them, especially that...infamous caftan episode. After all, the most normal thing for Pine and me has always been critiquing each other’s...wardrobe malfunctions. And certainly we both know I'm the only one who can pull off something that trendy, in spite of the fact Pine obviously has the delicate ankles for it.

But even on the water, Chris looked tired to me. The only time his face lit up was when his mom and pop boarded and joined Annabelle and him for a few days. And more recently, it seems to me when Chris does come up for air and make a public appearance somewhere, the exhaustion around his eyes is alarming—in fact, his entire face. His skin has lost its glow, like he’s missed a few too many facials or tanning sessions. Pine's always fastidious about those.

I'd pulled out my cell again, scowling at the lack of anything new, when Joe plops down his hot cocoa across from me. I hadn't even noticed when he walked in.

My shivering brother pulls out the chair and yanks at his jacket sleeves, careful to keep his gloves on as he tugs it off and wraps it around the chair back. "Don't you think you're being a bit obsessive about all this? I mean come on, Z, it's only been a few days." Even through chattering teeth, Joe is already pulling the big brother voice of reason act which, hello, I was there when he was growing up so, huh uh. I didn't invite him here to analyze me. Joe's always had this annoying habit of forgetting he's not that much older than I am.

“Hi to you too," I snipe. "Hey, you're lookin' good. Married life must agree with you. Obviously, Samantha's dressing you now. It's about time somebody drags you into the twenty-first century. You certainly never listened to me." I'm prepared to duck, if need be.

"Damn right it does. Sam's amazing and gorgeous and everything I'd been hoping for in a life partner."

"Oh, don't leave out the most important part. She puts up with you. That's more than the rest of us can do half the time!" I laugh, but I couldn't be more thrilled my big brother has found happiness with such a wonderful woman. One less thing to worry about. Speaking of which...

"It's been almost two weeks, Joe. It's never been more than a few days that we didn't touch base since we first became friends. And I mean, come on, you're friends with Chris yourself. Don’t you see it too? He's undeniably grayer. He looks more tense all the time. And his model-perfect stance...it's like his shoulders sag under some invisible weight. Is it really just me, or doesn't it seem like my best friend is pushing to prove he’s some indefatigable Wonder Man?”

"Really?" His eyebrow cocks, clearly mocking me. “Sorry, Zach. I just don’t see what you see. He’s his usual gorgeous self in the photos that've come across my dash. And it’s nothing new for him to go away for filming or whatever without notice, right? Hasn’t that always just been a Chris thing? You both have very active lives. It’s not like you guys are joined at the hip.”

“We used to be," I sigh a little too wistfully. Shit. Artless mistake.

"I don't know, maybe what I'm seeing is nothing more than just...the cumulative effect of all these years of physical training. They inevitably do add up. I mean, neither of us is as young as we were when we first started slinging kettlebells and bats.”

Joe blows lightly into his cup, still keeping both hands wrapped around it. “If I’m not mistaken, isn’t Chris only in his upper 30’s? You’re barely older than him yourself—not exactly over the hill. You make it sound like you guys have one foot in the grave. Though I did catch you rubbing your shoulder while ago like Grandpa used to.” Joe grins as he sips, leaking a little cocoa down his chin. Also much like Grandpa, come to think of it.

“Smart ass." I roll my eyes before I can catch myself. "But you forget we were all constantly competing with each other, preparing for the Treks—you know, pushing the limits to out lift, out run...just outdo each other. You remember how it was. You were there training with us for your stunt work. And besides, Pine can be....a little accident prone, so add injuries on top of it..."

Joe finally releases his drink and strikes that elbows-on-the-table-with-hands-grasped-in-front-of-his-nose pose he always assumes right before he starts lecturing me. “Look, Zach. Seriously, it’s only been a matter of days. You gotta stop worrying about this. I mean, what are you even thinking it could be, really? That this guy you’ve been besties with for over 10 years is suddenly gonna dump you because you said he looks tired? Not much of a friendship if that’s what you think, and I mean  _your_  part, not his. You might wanna chill and do some extra yoga stretches or something. You’re starting to sound a bit cray cray, if you know what I mean.” Joe's the only one past puberty I know who actually still uses that phrase while looking dead serious.

Without warning, hot tears sting the corners of my eyes. I try to hide it by acting interested in something hanging on the wall, which is ridiculous of course because everything is blurry and I can't see past the damn waterworks.

“Zach? Za....... Oh ...... Oooooh.” I jerk my head back toward him. Joe looks like a cartoon light bulb suddenly went off over his head. His chest sags as he picks up his cup again, that patented Quinto worry peering over it at me. “Sorry, bro, I....I didn’t know.”

“Didn't know what?”

Joe just looks down and shakes his head, and then gazes back up straight into my eyes. “I had no idea you felt  _that_ way about Chris. I mean, yeah I guess I should've read the signs better. But you were always....involved with other guys. I just thought you and Chris really were the bromance the paps always said you were. It’s...obviously a lot more than that, isn’t it?”

“Look, Joe. I just got out of a half-decade long relationship. Whatever you think you know, I assure you...you don’t.”

“The hell I don’t," he challenges. "I’m your brother. I  _know_  you, maybe better than anyone. The only thing I don't get is why I didn’t see it before. This...this explains everything I’ve wondered about for years. Like why you never married after leading the fight for legality.  That never really made any sense to Mom and me.

“It was Chris, wasn’t it? Oh, shit, Zach. He doesn't even know how you really feel about him.” Joe's eyes widen at yet another epiphany.

I couldn’t tell if that was a question or a stinging indictment.

“Chris doesn’t know anything because there’s nothing to know. Yeah, I’ve usually been with...someone. Doesn’t that make it obvious Chris and I are just friends?”

“No...it doesn’t. At all. Especially not with the way you’ve been hovering over that phone and worrying about him. I don’t care how many guys you’ve been involved with, I’ve never seen you like this when you talk about anyone else. What’s really going on, Z? Maybe it’s time you spill everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. No Beta.  
> All mistakes are mine. Trust me, if I had someone else to blame, I would.  
> Disclaimer: I barely own my cat. I certainly own nothing of Chris or Zach, though I would if I could.  
> They certainly own me, though.  
> I am so grateful all of the illness stuff is completely AU.  
> Thanks to Ivanw (and 3 others) who, by refusing to take my very involved prompt here and write this story for me no matter how much I begged, kicked me out of the Pinto nest to write it myself. It really _was_ fun. Scary as all get out, but fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Dammit, I hadn’t meant to out my deepest secret to my nosy brother today. I should've realized my emotions were much too rattled right now to be trusted around Joe, who's always been a little too intuitive for  _my_  own good, much less his. Till now, I’d been radically protective of both Chris's and my privacy; to never expose anything regarding our friendship, much less the truth of my personal feelings for him, which have always been way beyond brotherly. But even though others might have suspected, there's never been any hard evidence leaked anywhere.

So, yeah, Joe caught me. But just because I've been in love with Chris for years, so what? The guy’s straight. All those gorgeous women he’s been linked with prove it. At least I get to be friends with him. It's been fine. Really. A lot of people would give their right arm to be even this close to him.

But maybe this time, I pushed too far beyond some kind of friendship limits he'd set that I hadn't even known existed. I’d thought I could pretty much tell Pine anything that was on my mind. Or maybe what's really bothering him is that since I'd revealed my growing relationship problems, he fears when I'm single again I might finally make a hard move on him, and he wants to head me off.

In the middle of the night though, when it's just me and the ceiling I'm staring at, I have to admit what scares me most is the possibility our friendship is just...winding down. After all, we’ve lived on opposite sides of the country for several years; for the most part, we each hang with a completely different circle of friends now. Maybe it's foolish of me to expect us to remain as close as when we lived a few blocks apart at Silver Lake and saw each other practically every day.

Seriously, Pine and I'd had a good run, over a decade as friends. And now, apparently, he's done. I no longer can even try to justify how he's suddenly acting completely different with me. It's almost like I don’t even know him anymore.

People change. Or maybe it's I who have changed and didn't even notice.

For whatever reason, I find myself grudgingly dragged to that juncture in my life when more than one significant door has been slammed shut, and my only choices are to keep futilely butting my head against them...or buck up and change direction.

Joe and I had hugged our goodbyes outside the coffee shop, and then I’d walked the short distance back to our...I mean, my condo. There is no more  _our_. All that remains is finding the right buyer. It no longer bothers me to be there alone. No more of my ex’s paintings or crystals everywhere. His scent and all those expensive, exotic fragrances have finally faded from our bedroom. I’ve had months to get over it, much longer than either of us had let on to the world.

One quick detour into the Westsider bookstore, and then I was in for the night with a new poetry collection I’d heard a lot about. It’s not like I have anything else pertinent on my agenda for the evening, so after a relaxing hot shower, I prop myself up in bed and crack it open, planning to read till I can't stay awake any longer.

It always feels good to get away from everyone and climb inside someone else’s mind; take off the mask I wear in public, just let myself fall into that numb abyss where the regrets and what ifs that always haunt painful endings can't intrude. I’d really thought this time, this one was _the_  forever thing. And even more important, that this love would prove powerful enough I could finally get over yearning for Chris, once and for all.

But I was wrong. On both counts.

And though I’d already shared with Chris all along what was playing out over this past year so my inevitable break-up obviously wouldn’t be a total surprise, still I haven't been able to warn Chris that we were making the split public and final. I hate that he's going to find out through the tabloids...but again, that isn't my fault. I  _did_  try. 

 * * * * * * * * * * 

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Fuuuuck...what the fuck....

Groggy and instantly pissed at being snapped out of a deep, dreamless sleep, I reach over to chase my phone as it dances across the nightstand, sounding disturbingly like a five-pound mosquito. I'm on a break from filming or any stage runs right now, so I can sleep as late as I wish. Why did my alarm go off? Who the hell pranked me and set it while I wasn’t looking?

Joe! I’ll make him wish....

I awkwardly fight my damn nose and ears to slide my glasses on, finally waking enough to recognize it isn't my alarm—it's notification of an incoming text.

 _ **...God Z. What’s going on? I’ve been away**_  
  
_**...No bars there**_  
  
_**...What the hell is so important you’re spamming me?**_

I bolt straight up, adrenaline surging through me. Finally, it's Chris!   
  
_Spaming? Is that even pos...sible when it’s betwen frei friends?..._  
  
_You do know it’s middle of ni_t in NY?..._  
  
**..Sure. Sorry Z. Catch you later**  
  
_No don't go. I’ll call you n 5. Need water and pee first..._

 _Do NOT go anywhere..._  
  
I’d tried too long to get hold of Chris to let him disappear now. I shake off the brain fog, drag my butt off the mattress and pad barefoot to the bathroom to splash water on my face and get ready. As I head back, the phone rings. I practically dive at the bed.

“Hey, Zach, sorry it’s been so long getting back to you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing...I mean, everything. I was worried, Pine. You genuinely had me worried. Where have you been?”

“Away. Just work, long hours. I’m...beyond tired. I’m back now though. Just landed at JFK.”

“Poor baby! My heart bleeds.” Maybe a little harsh, but I'm seriously irritated. But...also greatly relieved.

“Yeah yeah, you’re jealous mine is bigger than yours right now. Work-load wise, of course.” He chuckles but even that sounds weary.

“You’re an ass, Pine. Breakfast in a few hours? Tell me where and when...or you wanna just come here and I’ll throw something together? I’m only here till tonight after the gala.”

“Nah, I’m booked at the Plaza. Trust me, you want me to clean up first. I’ll meet you at our Sarabeth’s, 9ish. S'that good?”

It's a little thing to grab onto. But when you're sinking, you're desperate for anything to keep you afloat.

 _Our_  Sarabeth's. 

 * * * * * * * * * * 

“Shit, you weren’t kidding, Pine. You look positively whipped.” I’d watched him come sprinting gingerly past the picture windows and burst through the side door, looking for our table. Even tired, he seems jumpy with...a wary energy of some kind.

And God he looks gorgeous. His smile lights up the place as he locates me, seated back out of the way, close to the bakery. Of course, I can't be sure whether I'm the inspiration or it's the glass case display behind me, packed with sugar-laden confections. I already have orange juice and a coffee press ready and waiting for him, as I knew Chris would arrive famished. No surprise there—Pine's always hungry.

I stand and hug him. Very prim and detached, in case nearby diners have their phones out capturing the moment. They don’t. This crowd is used to celebrities popping in at any time.

“Gee thanks, Zachy, I live for your praise.” Pine only uses that nickname when he's feeling snarky. But he's grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling, and instead of accepting my discreet hug, his arms clutch me tightly, patting my back. Yeah, he can call me anything he wants.

“I already ordered your usual pancakes,” I smile, suddenly aware I'd just pulled his chair out for him like he's my date. I just shrug at the thought and smirk as I sit back down across from him, so I won't have to miss a second of all that mesmerizing blue. “I assume you were flying all night?”

“Feels more like for days,” he grimaces. “I could have flown to the moon and back for free by now with all these frequent flier miles I’ve been racking up. I think my butt’s permanently molded into the shape of an airline seat and twice as stiff.” I find myself wishing I’d taken chance to determine that for myself. Pine’s ass is a thing of legends. Still, the surrounding patrons couldn't have missed my incriminating Chad-like lust if I had.

“And I hate to tell you, but I already have to cut this short ‘cause I have a lunch meeting with my agent at noon,” Chris adds between swigs of juice.

I just stare at him astonished, pouring his coffee. “A lunch meeting? After this feast?”

He winks over his glass, draining it dry. “You know me. Thanks for all this, by the way.” As he picks up his coffee cup, the server appears, balancing a tray covered by an avalanche of pancakes and fruit.  
  
After getting our plates and food organized, Pine drizzles this embarrassing stream of syrup all over everything, including his fingers which he hedonistically licks, savoring every drop. I've always hated when he does that. It always drives my thoughts plunging straight off the friend highway. Well, maybe not  _straight._

Chris stops to gulp down half his coffee at one time, making almost obscene moans of appreciation, again pushing all my buttons. “God I’ve missed this,” Chris whimpers, his napkin muffling his words. “Eating with you." I feel myself blushing like a school boy.

“So tell me, what’s so important you’ve hijacked all the storage in my cell this past couple of weeks?” He picks up his fork, decisively spearing a very large, juicy blackberry.

“You haven’t watched or read any news yet? On the plane or anywhere?”  
  
“Wasn’t my priority. Actually, I've been specifically avoiding media for awhile.  What’d I miss? You win another award or something I was supposed to present?”

“Yes. The 'My Best Friend Dumped My Ass' award. Very coveted.” I sneer, derisively. “No, moron. I’ve told you for months what was happening with... well, with the end of my relationship. We finally leaked it to the paps that we’ve officially called it quits and split.”

“Oh shit, Zach. That’s huge. I....I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for you. At least by phone. No matter the reasons, I know that was hard for you. I’m sorry, man.”

“If you say you grieve with me, you’re wearing that bacon home, Pine. I mean more than you already will be,” I tease. “The worst is over. You know we worked on this thing a long time, and it’s been dead in the water for months. I just had to have time to sort it all out in my head before telling anyone, and I didn’t want people pitying us or interfering as we disentangled our lives. I wanted to get past the tears and swollen eyes and be firmly back on my feet by the time anyone knew what had happened.”

“Sure, seems like a plan. Of course, what do I know? I’ve never been close enough to anyone to really live with them, so I have no idea how it feels to end that kind of relationship. Do you hear from him? I mean, how is he? Do you know?” He stops his fork mid-air. “Zach...do you even care after everything you guys have been through?”

“Of course I care. You don’t  _be_ with someone that many years and then just completely erase them from your mind.” I pause for effect, looking into his eyes so he knows I mean more than just my recent history.

Chris refills his coffee cup again, suddenly intrigued by it, though he's more likely trying to hide behind it. I quickly add, “But I can only guess he’s fine. He seemed okay the last time I saw him, when he moved out. I mean, we made a clean break, Chris. Clean. We tried to make it work, and when we couldn’t anymore—we went our separate ways. I don’t know where he’s been since Oscar night, and even then I only knew he was there somewhere when friends told me.”

“Well, then...are  _you_  okay, Zach? How are you with all of it? And what can I do to help? I mean, yeah, I know that sounds insipid to ask when you already needed me and I was nowhere to be found. But I’m here now. Is there anything I can do...to make it better for you?”

Everything inside me screams, HELL YEAH THERE'S SOMETHING.

But of course, I can't say that.

“I'm doing what they all advise: stay busy. I go out with friends, go to the theater, make appearances, travel. I will tell you, though, I’m amazed how little attention this thing has gotten. It’s almost like we're such yesterday’s news that nobody in the trades even cares, like they never expected it to last anyway. Certainly no Brangelina-type hounding by the paps for details. It’s as though when Trek 4 fell through, it took me with it, right off the A list. Which, don’t get me wrong, it’s been really nice not having to sidestep questions or avoid cameras. I was prepared for the worst. You know I’ve never subscribed to the 'even bad attention is attention' school of thought.

“It was just kind of hard also having to worry about you on top of everythi—“

“Stop there, Zach. We’ve been all through this before. Many times. You worry too much about me. You can stop. I’m...I’m just working, that’s all. It’s what grown-ups with huge responsibilities do. I have people who work for me and the bills to pay just like everyone else.”

“You’ll forgive me, Pine, but...I have a hard time believing that’s all it is. Something just doesn’t feel right about all this. I mean, my spidey senses are tingling all over the place.”

“Speaking of which, Zach! Did you see the movie? My big surprise Peter Parker thing? And my holiday song during credits? Wasn’t that a hoot?” He slaps the table lightly in amusement.

“A....hoot? Where the hell have you been lately? Yeah I heard it—it was cute. Don’t change the subject.”

“Look, I need to get going if I’m gonna walk off some of this breakfast and be ready for my lunch meeting. Thanks for everything. It’s so great to see you. It seems like it's been forever.”

“What?” I'm...stunned. “You just got here. Chris, you haven’t eaten half your food. What do you mean, you need to be going?”  
  
“I just remembered something I need to do...get at the hotel. I forgot some...important papers in my room. You know how I get when I'm bushed. After all, it was you who pronounced me whipped while ago. Here, let me help with all this.” He digs in his pocket and tosses some bills on the table. I consider decking him. But only for a second.

“Pine, what the hell? I already got this. But...I mean....you really have to go already?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Z. I’ll make it up to you. Soon. I promise.”

“Chris, I'm flying out tonight. I’ll be in LA next week. When do you go home?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know when.” He pushed back his chair and stood, abruptly wiping his mouth and tossing the napkin in his plate. “I’ll text you, I promise. It won’t be long. Bye!”

And just like that, he rushes away. No hug. No smile.

No glancing back. 

Somehow, I’ve fucking done it again. And this time, I'm pretty sure has been my last chance. I'm sitting here watching the best thing in my life just walk away.    

So this is what it feels like for Chris to slam the door between us.

 


	3. Chapter 3

For the past three weeks, I've been volunteering as guest director of a student performance at a small community playhouse for underserved kids in San Diego. So far, these teens have been having a blast, bursting with enthusiasm and nerves as opening night approaches. Everything has run as smoothly as I could hope, mostly because of their more than generous benefactors. But that’s not the same as actually getting up in front of an audience of your peers and family members and remembering your blocking and lines and marks and most important, how to recover when something goes wrong, as invariably it will.

They remind me so much of myself at that age. I’ve developed a real rapport with them and we've earned each other's trust; that’s definitely working in my favor as I teach them relaxation and centering methods that always help me on stage.

Tonight, we stayed later than usual with the leads, reworking some scenes for tomorrow night's big opening performance. I’m bone tired when I finally sink into the luxurious seat of my rental and head back to the hotel, ears ringing from the din of the past few days' constant chatter. I'd forgotten how noisy teens can be.

But this vehicle is famous for its great sound system, so I search for something soothing to wind me down during the 20-minute drive. As I fiddle with the unfamiliar controls, I come across some local news broadcast I have no intention of listening to, when suddenly they mention Chris’s name. I only catch the tail end of the report, so I have no idea what the story was about.  I haven't really had any idea what Pine's been up to or where he’s working for weeks. At least he’s getting attention from the press. Good for him. He’s brought in a couple of hits in the past few months, with more big releases planned over the next year.

True to his word, Chris actually had texted me a few times in the months after our breakfast in Manhattan, but they're always short and lacking substance. I no longer bother asking questions since he never gives me straight answers to anything anyway. I’ve had to accept that other friends have replaced me in his life.

Chris had broken my heart a couple of times through the years, and he’d never even known it. But back then, I always knew I’d still have what I'd believed was our unshakable friendship firmly in my life.  I was wrong again; it’s all but faded away.

I’d taken the chance to visit my therapist a few times since that morning at Sarabeth’s. I could handle the breakup of my long-term relationship, or I could handle losing Chris, but trying to wrap my head around losing both so suddenly has been drowning me in heartache.

The only thing keeping me afloat is working on my various projects and especially donating time here with these kids who are getting some much needed attention. They deserve my best, which I’m determined to give them; and while I’m trying to toss them a lifeline, they’re certainly throwing one back to me.

As I pull up in front of the hotel and toss my keys to the valet, Zoe’s ringtone breaks through my reverie. I decide to let it go to voicemail and get back to her after a shower and some room service. But instead of leaving a message, she calls right back. Of course then my thoughts run right to the worst case scenario—that something might have happened with one of her boys. So I go ahead and answer, trying to sound upbeat. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

“Zach, have you heard?” I'm relieved when I hear her warm, sweet voice, which sounds merely concerned rather than frantic. “Chris had some kind of accident on set this afternoon and ended up being taken to the hospital. I tried to call you, but your phone was off.”

“Yeah, I've been working at the playhouse. I haven’t really heard anything. Is he okay? What’d he break this time?” We're all used to his goofy stumbles. He usually laughs them off.

“He’s at Cedars-Sinai in LA but I haven’t been able to find out any details other than what I’ve heard on the news, just confirming it happened. Maybe you could call his parents?”

“Sure, I will in the morning. It’s nothing critical or they would have gotten in touch with me.”

That’s most likely a lie. I’m not actually sure any of the Pines would call me about anything anymore, but it gets me off the hook with Zoe and with my conscience for the moment.

“You’re probably right. Let me know if you find out something, okay? I’m shooting in Florida right now, so I’m completely out of the loop.”

“Will do," I promise. "Thanks for letting me know.”

I’m really not worried at all. Chris gets hurt often during rehearsals. He’s strong and in great shape. He’ll be fine.

* * * * * * * *

This time, it’s Joe’s ringtone waking me the next morning, right before my alarm was set to go off.

“Zach, sorry to call you so early, but you heard about Chris?”

“Oh, hey, Joe. Yeah, Zoe got hold of me last night after rehearsal. Have you heard anything?” I yawn, running the hem of my T-shirt over my eyes.

“Yeah, he stepped backward off the edge of some kind of platform during filming yesterday. I don’t know how far down he fell or how bad it is yet.”

Shit.  I’m shocked wide awake now. “God, I had no idea. You’re in LA right now, aren't you? Can you run over to Cedars and check out how he is and let me know? I don't wrap up here in San Diego till tomorrow night.”

“Sure, I can run over there in a few minutes. I actually called, though, figuring you’d be the one filling me in. So nothing’s improved between the two of you at all?”

“Nope, I’m firmly mired down in the blocked-out zone, but that’s not important right now. All that matters is that he's okay. I really need you to go find out for me.”

* * * * * * * *

The kids are running their final dress rehearsal this morning before tonight’s big opening, but I’m sitting halfway back in the audience to get a feel for the overall flow, where I can leave my phone on, just in case. My plan is to interrupt the kids as seldom as possible and leave the actors and technicians to work through any glitches on their own, since they have to be prepared to improv like that if something goes wrong in front of an audience.

Finally, Joe texts me to call when I have a chance; he has the latest news on Chris’s injuries. Of course, that means I spend the remainder of the morning nursing this huge knot in my stomach until we break for a few hours to get ready for tonight’s call time.

I don’t even make it to the car before I’m punching Joe's speed dial, shaking with apprehension. “Hi, what’d you find out?”

“He's going to be okay, Z. I went to his room and talked with Robert and Gwynne, and they assured me everything will be fine. The doctors just wanted to keep Chris overnight for observation and to run a few more tests on him. He has a slight concussion and he’s bruised quite a bit, but they said he's really lucky and didn’t break anything or have internal injuries, so bullet dodged this time.

"He was sitting up, talking with Katherine when I got there. His mom said it looks like he’ll be discharged this afternoon, and his dad insists on taking him to their house for a day or two, just to make sure he follows doctor’s orders and rests.”

“Yeah, like anybody can make Pine do anything,” I grumble. “But I’m glad they’re with him. He’d most likely have gone to their house for Sunday dinner tomorrow anyway. Sounds like they've got it covered and nobody misses me not being there. Oh, and Joe, update Zoe, okay? She's out of town and I'm sure by now she's worried sick. I gotta go and get ready for the opening tonight."

“Sure thing, right after we hang up. But Zach, you're wrong. Chris's parents said to give you their love and tell you Chris would really enjoy seeing you when you get to LA.”

Excitement jolts through me at their invitation, then sinks just as quickly when I remember. “All that means is their son hasn’t informed them yet he’s called it quits on our friendship. I’m sure Chris doesn’t give a fuck whether I visit or not. But at least now I can relax and enjoy the rest of the weekend with the kids without worrying about him.”

“I hate to see you like this," Joe frets. "Maybe after this play is over, you ought to get away for awhile. Somewhere you’ve never been before, with no memories. Just go have some fun by yourself.”

“Guess I picked a shitty time to not be drinking, because getting away alone and staying sober only leaves more time to get depressed and obsess more about it all. No, I need to stay here, the busier the better. Thanks for the concern, though. Gotta go, give my love to Samantha.”

“Will do. And promise you'll make it by to visit Sam and me before you leave LA.”

I promise, though I'm sure I'll be heading back to New York soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The jig hits the fan.

The kids’ performances turn out to be a huge success with both audiences and the local critics, bless them. These young performers need and deserve all the strokes they can get. From my own youthful experiences, I know that the art of expression and being appreciated for your work can change the course of a life for good. The benefactors who run and financially support the playhouse are nothing short of saints for all they’ve donated to the community and fed into these kids’ souls.

Our Sunday performance is a matinee, so I bring in a lot of pizza and sandwiches for the set striking party, where I pass out individual awards of my own.

After our tearful goodbyes, I leave San Diego early in the evening, which allows me plenty of time to drive to LA and get to the Pine residence by dark.

I’d been arguing with myself for two solid days about whether to visit Chris at his parents’ house, but in the end, it was Chris’s mom who called and pleaded with me to drop by for a visit tonight, and being Gwynne, she simply wouldn't accept no for an answer.

I’m not taking anything with me, no gifts of flowers or wine like I normally would for a visit. I plan for this to be very impersonal, just in and out quickly, paying my regards with as little emotional attachment as possible. Chris needs his rest anyway, and after all, it isn’t he who invited me in the first place.

When she opens the door, Gwynne is all sparkles and sunshine, radiant as she always is. This classically gorgeous woman is one of the most gracious and genuine people I’ve ever met. Hugging me enthusiastically, she then hooks her arm through mine to drag me inside as though she’s afraid I'll change my mind and bolt.

“Bob, look who’s here!” Gwynne sings. Mr. Pine immediately jumps up from his recliner, dropping the book he’d been reading and pulling off his glasses to reveal those familiar smiling eyes that to me somehow always look full of mischief.

“Zachary, my boy! Get in this house!” he cries in his exuberant dad voice as he practically charges at me, arms pulling me in close for a giant bear hug. “How you been, son? Long time no see! We’ve been missing you around here.” He claps his arm around my shoulders and guides me to what used to be known as my favorite chair, by the sofa. “Have a seat, Zach. So good to have you back here in LA.” Between the two of them, there’s no question where Chris got not only his good looks but his effervescent grins. I’ve always been a little envious of Chris growing up parented by these two generous people, and how loving and accepting they always are.

“Zachary,” Gwynne asks, “Can I get you some coffee or tea? Maybe a sparkling water? A sandwich or some fruit? Anything?”

“Really, both of you stop!” I can’t help rolling my eyes a little, surrendering to being spoiled because I never had a chance anyway. Half their fun has always been making sure guests and friends feel at home here. “Sure...water would be great, Gwynne, thanks. But you don’t need to go to any trouble. I’m not staying long."

Turning to face Robert, I offer him the most shallow recount of the past few months of my life, adding, “And I’m doing okay with everything. I’m hanging in there. Lots of changes, obviously. Oh, and still trying to sell the condo, if you know anybody looking. But every day’s a little easier. How’s Chris? He’s still here, right?” I’m not sure whether I hope his answer is yes or no.

“Oh, yeah, we’re holding onto him here at the house for a couple more days. He’s pretty banged up, and his doctor said he’s to take it easy with the concussion. But he’s a very lucky young man to have no serious injuries after falling twenty feet.”

“Twenty feet?" My insides seize with fear at how easily this accident could have ended tragically. “And he walked away with only a concussion? Are they sure?” I didn’t know it was even possible to fall that far without much more serious injuries. But then, Chris always stayed in really great physical shape, so maybe that’s the explanation. Or maybe it was just sheer luck. Either way, it’s hard to shake off the chills that grip me at the thought of what we could have been going through today.

Gwynne sweeps into the room with a bottle of Perrier and a glass, taking a seat beside her husband. “Yes, It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that he didn’t rupture his spleen or break bones or something even worse. You know, he’s back there in his old room, talking with his sister right now. Katherine’s been here all day and I know they’re both dying to see you. Chris looked so excited when I told him you’d drop by tonight when you got in from San Diego.

“And just between the three of us, shhhh,” she holds her finger to her lips, glancing toward the hall. “There’s been a lot of frantic whispering coming from that direction all afternoon. They think they’re being so sneaky, but I’m pretty sure the two of them are planning a surprise party for our wedding anniversary in September. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you, Zachary?” Her face is mischievously accusing. The Gwynne Inquisition, we call it. The most badass spy would gladly confess national secrets under those lovingly grilling eyes.

“Oh, that’s right,” I stroke my chin. “I’d totally forgotten you’ll be celebrating the big five-oh anniversary this year. How is that even possible? You both look so young, you must have married as babies.” I chuckle as Gwynne blushes shyly, Robert patting her knee. “But no, I’m not in on any secret plans. If I do find out anything, you want me to let you know?” I wink at her, hiding my disappointment that, indeed Chris and Katie haven’t invited me into their confidence. Just a few months ago, I’m sure Chris would have told me all about it.

“Oh, where is my head?  I completely forgot to ask how your play went, dear,” Gwynne adds, unabashed affection shining in her eyes.

“The kids were phenomenal. Truly delivered two fine performances this weekend. I’m very proud of them.” I never miss a chance to brag about them.

“That’s such a gift you give them, sweetheart, donating your time to help their little troupe. I know they must think of you as their own personal superhero,” she beams.

“Yeah,” Robert agrees. “I was telling Gwynnie that sometime we’ll have to take a trip down there and see one of their performances. I wish we could have this time, and I’m sure Chris feels the same way.”

My stomach flips as I’m sure Chris decidedly does __not__ feel the same way at all. His parents obviously still have no idea their son has shut me out of his life. I can't help hoping, though, that his parents will still consider me a friend even though Chris won’t be, when they finally learn the truth. They’ve always been very special to me from the very first time Chris introduced us, years ago.

“Zach, go on back and see Chris. I can tell how much you want to. Don’t let us keep you from him,” Gwynne insists.

I actually feel more comfortable sitting right here with them, but I also know it isn’t going to get any easier the longer I put it off. So I stand and head to his bedroom.

As I walk further down the hall, I start to hear some of those intense whispers she mentioned coming from his room.

“Chris, you have to tell them. They’re our parents, they deserve to know. You can’t keep this from them any longer. Sweetie, it’s only going to get more obvious, the more time you let pass. Your body is losing more control every day.” Katie is adamant about something. “They’re going to know you’ve been lying to them, and that’s going to make it just that much harder on them.”

“But it’s not like there’s anything they can do about it, Kate. Nobody can,” Chris argues, whispering vehemently. “There’s not even anything left to try. I’ve been to that clinic in Sweden twice. My doctors both here and at the clinic have studied my head from every direction and came up with the same conclusion both times. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s over. It’s untreatable. There aren’t any medications that even help with symptoms.”

Suddenly it filters through my skull they’re not talking anything about anniversaries or parties at all. My stomach floods with sick, hot dread as I lean back against the wall and hold on to keep from slipping down to the floor. Chris? Sick? Untreatable? I strain to hear more.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Katie scolds. “New discoveries are made every day, and advancements in therapies and meds. There are dozens of researchers out there working on this syndrome. You...you owe it to mom and dad to let them share this with you. Come on Chris, you know this!”

“It doesn't just affect me. It’s our parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary this year. If they know I’m not going to be around, maybe not even till September...Kate, it'll spoil all the fun they have planned. If you tell them, I’ll have ruined everything.

“I'm not telling them, and Katie, by God, neither are you. This is my problem, and mine alone. I didn't even mean for you to know. But you will not tell anyone. Seriously, not even Zach.   _Especially_  not Zach.”

What? What is he saying? What does Chris mean he's not telling all of us? And why especially not me?


	5. Chapter 5

_I can’t believe what I'm hearing. My head is...spinning wildly as I strain to hear more of Katherine’s and Chris’s whispers._  
  
“Don't do this to Zach, Chris. You love him—you always have. And you absolutely know that man is sappy in love with you, too, whether he admits it or not. I've never understood how you could ever doubt it. Even mom and dad know. Nobody but you can ignore the way he’s always looked at you, like you’re the very oxygen he breathes when you’re near.”  
  
_My heart pounds so hard, each beat is deafening. What Katie is saying...I’ve never known any of this. I always thought...it would be impossible. Waves of nausea almost double me over. I need to throw up. Now. But I can’t miss this conversation. I’ve got to force myself to calm down. I have to know._  
  
“Kate, I’ve just spent months setting this up, pulling away from Zach so he doesn’t have to watch me get sicker. I never want to see that kind of pain in his eyes, especially if you’re right about him being in love with me. Even if he's not, it would still hurt him. Deeply.

“Zach and I....we’re where we need to be right now. We hardly talk any more. He won’t miss me when I’m gone if we’re no longer close. And I can tell he’s pulled away hard…he resents me. I know he thinks I’m being a callous, self-absorbed prick. Trust me, sis, it’s working.”  
  
_God, how can Chris think this way? He’s that much of a fucking idiot to actually believe it would be easier on me when he dies if he’s tricked me into resenting him?_

 _But I’ve been an absolute idiot, too—I'm the one who fell for his act, in spite of how close we’ve been for years. Joe was right. I do suck as a friend to be so easily fooled by Chris's charade. Instead of being tired of me, he’s been trying to protect me._  
  
Chris just keeps arguing with his sister. “Promise me right now you won’t tell him. I mean it, Katie. I’ve worked too hard on this. I can’t...I won’t watch Zach watching me die.”

“God, you’re a stubborn twit! Even though I can’t stop you from being an ass to him, I refuse to be part of it. Zach means too much to this entire family. And lying never helped anything. Haven’t you learned that in your 38 years?”

“This time, lying _will_ help.  Zach has projects lined up for the next couple of years. You know as well as I do, if he finds out the truth about this, he’ll break contracts and risk his reputation, maybe lose his SAG card, just to come take care of me. I refuse to be the cause of that. The man has a life...a good life. I want him to continue having that good life long after I’m gone. If I can make my death not affect him, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“I swear, Chrissy, how do you even get acting jobs?" Katherine sounds beyond exasperated. "You’re not even good enough liar to convince yourself. You've always claimed to have good excuses for not telling Zach how you feel; which, by the way, I’ve _never_ agreed with. But I've stayed out of it and respected your right to make your own stupid mistakes.

“But not now. He's going to be devastated, and not just to lose you; but because you didn’t respect him enough to let him make his own grown-ass choices. Don't cheat him out of what could be his last months with you. Tell him the truth. Tell him _both_ truths.

“In fact, sweetie, tell everyone—Zoe and Patrick and...well, all your friends. They deserve to know.”

“Kate, you remember watching Zoe on Corden’s show that night years ago, ragging about how I can eat so much and stay slim? See? I'm well practiced in hiding this from everybody for years. None of them ever suspected that I just can't hold down most of what I eat, no matter what meds the doctors try on me. When I saw Zach a few weeks ago for breakfast, I had to make up some stupid excuse to cut it short and get out of there before he could realize how sick what little I ate was making me. I've got this down. He didn't question my excuse. He totally believes I'm just an ass.

"This thing in my brain, no, nobody needs to find out. Not yet.”  
  
_And there it is. Finally, the truth. Chris has some inoperable brain tumor or something that's killing him._

_Still hidden in the hall, leaning against the wall, hoping my legs don't dump me in the floor, I sway, dizzier and sicker by the minute. I can’t....I don’t know how to even begin to process this._

_Chris..._  
  
_I want to run—anywhere away from here. I’m sick with shame. I’ve razzed Chris with the rest of them for years. I never even considered that those quirks of his that are so much a part of his persona could be symptomatic of something...dangerous. A thing in his head. Why didn’t doctors figure this out years ago before it grew large enough to take his life?_  
  
“I’m just glad I chickened out and didn't try to marry him back years ago and have kids the way I always wanted," Chris confesses. "Thank God there are no children involved to be hurt because of this.”

That was the final blow. Bolting down the hallway gagging, holding my mouth, I barely make it to the bathroom before tossing everything, heaving over and over till there can’t possibly be anything left. I finally let go of the toilet and press my face against the cool tile; dazed, my heart physically aching.

“Zach, what’s wrong, son?” Robert bursts into the bathroom, crouching quickly beside me. “You’re sick? Was it something wrong with the water?”

I groan, miserable with embarrassment as he strokes my hair back and checks my forehead for fever. “Gwynne, honey,” I hear him call out as the room spins, “Could you bring us some ice chips and a washcloth in here quick? Zach's really sick.”

I need....I don’t know what I need. Time. I need Chris. My entire perception of my life just flipped upside down. Everything I’d ever thought before...it's all lies. I’d lied to myself. I....I....hadn’t imagined what was really in Chris’s mind. And there I thought it was him breaking my heart, to now learn I was the one breaking his. No...

I have to push Robert back out of the way so I can retch some more, weak, hanging onto the toilet for dear life.

“Zach, here. Gwynne brought an icepack—can I put it on your neck?” Even worse, now Gwynne is wiping my face with a damp cloth while Robert supports my head, until I finally finish and can lie back down again. I’m mortified. Nobody else has seen me puke in years, much less comforted and taken care of me while I did it.

“Who’s throwing up in he....oh! Zach!” Katie sticks her head through the doorway. “I didn’t even know you were here yet. Do you guys need anything?”

I can only moan for the moment. Chris’s mom hands me a water bottle to rinse my mouth, and as soon as I can, I lie back in the floor. “When you’re able to get up, young man, you’re going to bed in the guest room. You’ll be staying here tonight,” Gwynne insists. “Bob, I’ll go get the guest room ready, you stay here with him till he feels well enough to walk.”

“No, I’m...not...sick. I...please don’t let...Chris see me...like this,” I groan.

“He won’t,” Katie immediately promises. “He’s still in his room. I’ll keep him there.

"It really is good to see you Zach….sort of.” She chuckles sympathetically. "Wow, I’m so glad you made it all the way here before you got so ill. Mom and Dad’ll take good care of you, and I’ll take care of Chris. I was going to spend the night, anyway. I’ll see you in the morning. Feel better.”

I still can't say anything, which I'm guessing is best for now. I don't want to say the wrong thing, and I have no idea what the right thing to say would be.

What do I do now? Now that I know the truth?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Forrest. Sometimes it turns out chocolate isn't what's in that box.

I awake to quiet tapping on the bedroom door. Even through closed eyelids, I can see blinding sunlight flooding the room. _Where am I?_

”Zach? Zach? Are you okay in there?” Oh yeah. I recognize Chris’s dad’s voice even through the pain.

I hiss, massaging my pounding temples. My mouth tastes like shit and I’m starving. But the bed feels heavenly, and I’m sure the rest of the room is just as accommodating, as is everything the Pines touch. I just can’t quite pry my eyes open yet to actually see it.

Clearing my throat, my voice wavers, “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Even my own voice vibrating through my skull makes the hammering in my head worse.

“That’s good,” he replies. “I just wanted you to know brunch is ready. See you when you get out here.”  Rolling carefully onto my side, I finally force my eyes open to check the time. 11:00 am.

11:00 am? Shit! That snaps me awake. I must have slept like a rock to stay in bed this long. I’d only meant to stop by for a quick obligatory visit in the first place, and...

And then, recalling everything from last night, I’m swamped with sorrow. Chris is sick. Something in his head is killing him.

And...he’s in love with me.

Searching for the en suite, I turn my head cautiously. I’ve stayed overnight in this room a few times back in the old days, but it has been remodeled since. I then notice my luggage has been stacked on a chair by the bedroom door. “Thanks, Robert,” I whisper. Slowly crawling out of bed, I test my balance before walking over to dig through my bags for clean clothes and toiletries.

Fairly certain Gwynne would never sneak through the room with me in here sick or asleep, I’m sure it was also Mr. Pine who’d laid out an assortment of pain and stomach meds, along with a couple of bottles of water, on the bathroom counter. Thanking him silently again, I swallow what I think will get me through the next few hours and back to the hotel where I'll be staying the next few days. I’d already planned to fly back to New York soon after a few scheduled meetings with my west coast AMC and Netflix contacts.

Leaning forward over the counter, I stare at the drawn, aggrieved face reflecting back from the mirror. I guess my excitement and nerves for the kids and their performances, topped by way too much celebrating at the after-party, had caught up with me. Add to that forty-eight straight hours of worrying about Chris’s injuries, especially during the drive from San Diego, and I figure it all intersected into my own personal Bermuda Triangle last night.

And most sobering of all, learning the truth about Chris’s feelings for me; how the past few years of our lives could have been dramatically different if we'd only trusted each other and been honest. Chris...love...a home...our own little guys squealing and giggling around the yard. I’d ached for all of that, back when I believed it could never be more than a pipe dream.

And to find out—now, when it’s too late.

Chris said he might not even have another five months. The first of many tears to come begin to sting my face as I realize losing Chris this way would be an emptiness none of us could ever get past.

When I finish cleaning up and getting dressed, still feeling disoriented and scared, I slump back down on the edge of the bed, holding my head. The only reason I’d come here was to see Chris; yet I’ve been in this house fifteen hours and still haven't gotten a glimpse of him. I don’t know whether he’ll be in his room or at the table to eat. I can even easily imagine Chris going back home without seeing me, since his goal is to make me hate him...for the short remainder of his life.

My headache has dulled a bit under the hot spray of the shower, coupled with the pain meds Robert left, so I’m ready to go find everyone. Sure enough, they’re all in the dining room—Chris, Katie, the Pines, sitting at the table, almost finished eating their frittatas and fruit. They hadn't waited for me, since I took so long getting cleaned up. And extra time making sure nobody could tell I’d been crying.

In attempt to convince of my recovery, I bounce into the dining room, greeted by big grins accompanied by overlapping voices wishing me good morning, “Though it’s more like good afternoon, lazy bones,” Chris taunts, dropping a piece of toast on his plate and wiping his hands on his jeans in typical Chris fashion, as he stands to come hug me. A festive place setting awaits me, along with an empty glass, orange juice pitcher close by. The empty chair between Mr. Pine and Chris is obviously designated mine. After the hug, Chris’s insistent hand presses against my back, guiding me to sit down. I feel his warmth even through my shirt.

“Zachary, dear!” I snap my head toward Gwynne, who is now standing to return to the kitchen. “Pay Chris no mind. I kept your food warm for whenever you felt like joining us. Did you sleep okay? Do you feel well enough to eat now?” Her lively voice reminds me of a whimsical Disney character. I have no idea how she always does that. “Or I could make you some oatmeal if you feel like that would settle better on your stomach.”

“No, Gwynne, I can get it,” I insist as I start to stand, but Gwynne is having none of it. “Don’t you dare, young man. You may sit yourself right back down. It’s my turn to take care of you this morning," she winks, glowing.

“I’m fine, really,” I assure her...and everyone. “I can eat what everyone else’s having. No more sick.” I glance around the table. “I apologize for oversleeping, but that’s really your fault for offering me that plush bed for the night. I certainly never meant to sleep so late.”

“I’m sure you needed it after all you’ve been doing the past few days," Gwynne reassures me. “You go ahead and get started on your juice. I’ll bring you fresh coffee.” I try to focus on her words, but my attention lingers on Chris, who keeps looking at me as though I were the suckable end of that succulent strawberry he just bit into.

“Zach, I didn’t even know when you got here last night,” Chris interrupts my inappropriately timed fantasy. “I’m sorry I didn’t even get to see you before your big heave party. I’m glad that’s all over, though, since Mom slayed the fatted calf in honor of you this morning. Well, figuratively anyway, since you're vegetarian." Chris grabs my empty glass, and my heart aches as I notice the slight tremor in his arm as he lifts the juice pitcher to fill it.

“So how did everything go in San Diego? Were they good to you? Or...more important, were you good to them? I can just see those kids being a bit intimidated by Mr. Evil Eyebrows,” Chris snickers as he imitates my villain face.

“Nah, I was the one intimidated. Kids are so different from how they were even when I was in high school in Pittsburgh. But they all still have the same needs. Acceptance and being noticed for something other than getting into trouble. These guys all did a great job and gained a lot of confidence and self worth through the process, I'm pretty sure.”

“I bet they did. Wish I could have been there. Hey, Katie’s here!” Chris nods toward her as though she'd been invisible till now, sitting there beside him, finishing her coffee. “She was here all weekend, babysitting me. You obviously heard about my latest klutzy accident. Glad I don’t work around heavy equipment. I’d never survive.”

Survive. How can he say something so cavalier? And again, my stomach floods with that hot dread feeling. I’m not sure I'll ever be able to control it.

Chris had only finished maybe a third of his meal and right now is sitting back stretching as though stuffed. Then he abruptly shoots out of his chair. “Hey, I’ll be right back, I want to get something out of my room to show you.” He quickly jaunts away from the table and down the hall toward the back of the house.

Before, that wouldn’t have seemed anything out of the ordinary for Pine. But this time, after overhearing last night, I know exactly what it means. Katie’s eyes nonchalantly follow him till he’s out of sight and then sweep back past mine. Shit. I wasn't thinking. Her glance catches me off guard, too late to mask my heavy sadness at the thought of what Chris is doing this very moment. Her gaze settles on my eyes, her mouth twitching.

I quickly switch attention over to Robert. “Anything interesting in the paper this morning? I think I remember you always read it first thing before breakfast.”

“Aw, the usual nutty nonsense. Nothing important. Oh, I did actually find a little article at the back of the arts section about the kids’ play. It was quite complimentary. Their benefactors are now planning to expand their outreach into other communities as well." He reaches over and pats my wrist. "You did a good thing there, Zach. I’m proud of ya.”

I can’t remember the last time a father figure expressed pride in me since Leonard.... It would be easy to settle into this kind of contented acceptance and approval. 

And then it hits me. I’d missed out on them, too. Actually, on all the Pines. Had Chris and I married, they would have been my extended family, and Joe’s, and even my mom’s when she visited. All those Sunday dinners we would have enjoyed together. And those kids we didn’t get to have—they would have been spoiled rotten by three of the most fun and loving grandparents a kid could ever have, the kind everyone wishes for. I'm beginning to realize how much more far-reaching all those lost opportunities were.

Katie hasn’t quit staring at me. She dabs her napkin at her lips and places it on the table, standing. “Hey, Zach, have you seen Mom and Dad’s new patio furniture in the back? Why don’t you come with me and I'll show it off to you. It's all fiesta inspired, very vibrant and splashy. And this time of day in the backyard is so beautiful. By the time we get back, Mom will have your food ready.” She tugs her arm through mine, leaving me no choice but to follow.

First Joe catches me, and now Katherine. I obviously don't deserve that SAG card anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

There's no denying it, and Katie isn't giving me a chance to try. I have to think fast. Now is neither the time nor the place for this conversation.

I follow her through the French doors and out behind the house, sinking down into an overstuffed patio chair under the tropical-colored umbrella, already unfurled over a beautiful ornate metal table. Kate settles across from me.

“Okay spill, Zach. What do you know and how come you know it? I’m one hundred percent certain Chris didn’t tell you a thing. And for damned sure since he threatened to cut out my tongue, I didn’t share with anyone, either.  _ _Nobody__  is supposed to know but the two of us.” She finally stopped for air, looking stern and worried, but at least she doesn't seem angry.

“Well, Katie, I hate to tell you, but the Pines are onto your little secret anniversary party. They said you guys had been whispering in the back all day yesterday. Jig's up. You weren’t quiet enough to get away with it.”

“Huh? Oh...oh, oh yeah. Well, yeah, the...the anniversary party. Sure,” she chuckles nervously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Damn, and there we thought we were being so smart. I should've realized we’d never get anything past Mom’s bionic ears. We’ll be a lot more careful in the future with the rest of our plans. So that's...it?"

“Of course," I nudge across at her arm. “But you know, you guys could always let  _ _me__  in on the secret. Wild horses couldn’t drag it outa me,” I promise, waggling my eyebrows.

“No, not this time, Zach. Definitely the fewer people know the details, the better the surprise. It’s still months off.” And then biting her lip, all the light drains out of her face....I'm sure at the thought Chris may not make it that long.

“Well, we'd better get back in there," she continues, "or you’ll never get to eat today. And Chris'll be mad at me for stealing you away from whatever it is he wants to show you.” Katie's obviously well rehearsed in covering for Chris. She leads the way back to the dining table, where Chris has returned.

“Really, children! I thought I was going to have to throw out another plate of food." Gwynne appears from the kitchen, moving to my side. "Katherine Gwynne Pine! Leave our guest alone so he can eat. Here, son, this is for you, the veggie special just the way you used to like me to prepare it! Bon appétit.” She situates everything just so, and then reaches her arm around my shoulders, squeezing.

“Mom, Zach and I are both in our 40’s now. Not exactly children.”

“Speak for yourself, Elder Kate,” I scold. “I’m still younger than you.”

“Zach,” Chris taps on the table. “If I’m not mistaken, you came here to see  _ _me__ , right? Give me some attention—it’s my turn now!”

I turn in my chair to square-on face him. “Speaking of impetuous children, Chrissy, where’s what you wanted to show me?”

“Oh, damnedest thing—I couldn’t find it. I could’ve sworn I’d put it in the closet, and now it’s nowhere to be found. I’ll come up with it later and show you next time I see you. How long are you in town?”

I smile best I can, knowing he's lying to my face; there never really was anything to be found.  “Just a few days. But if you’re gonna be around, I’d love to spend some time with you before I go back to New York. It’s been awhile since we’ve really hung out. Maybe we could drive out to the beach and relax a bit.”

“What an excellent idea, Zach,” Robert grins in agreement. “I’ve been thinking Christopher looks a bit pale lately. I bet sunshine is just what he needs!”

“I won’t be back on set till Wednesday, and even then just a half day,” Chris explains. “They’re redesigning some sets and installing additional safety features till then. At least they didn’t fire me. How about tomorrow?"

I'd already set up a business meeting for tomorrow afternoon, but I won't allow anything to stand in the way of spending time with Chris, whether my associates like it or not.  And anyway, I can use the extra time for some important research I need to do between now and then.

“Absolutely. How about I pick you up after lunch? We can take some drinks along.” I figure I'll give him plenty of time to eat and then deal with whatever he needs to do afterward without having to hide it from me.

“One o’clock will be great.”

After finishing my luscious meal and coffee, I leave the table to retrieve my things out of the guest room and then meet everyone at the front door.  


“And now I’ve got to get going and talk to some bigwigs later this afternoon." Of course, no one has any idea what profession those bigwigs practice.  


"Thanks, Gwynne, the food was exquisite.” I blow her a chef’s kiss. “Katie, always good to see you. Robert, thanks for all your help last night and I hope we never see each other under such circumstances again.” Everyone laughs and hugs, and then I rush to the car. 

I have a lot of phone calls to make between now and when I pick up Chris tomorrow, the first and foremost of which will be to one Ms. Katherine Pine. We have a lot more to discuss than patio furniture.


	8. Chapter 8

“So the real answer to your question, Katherine, is that I know almost everything.” I’d called Chris’s sister late Monday evening when I was sure she’d be back home after spending the rest of the day with her brother. "I just didn't want to get into it with you at your folks' house.

I heard her gasp. “Zach, I’m not understanding here. You already told me you know about the party.”

“Katie...I heard you and Chris whispering right before I got sick. I know his big secret; that he’s been to some Swedish clinic and they left him with no hope. What I don’t know is the name of this thing that’s killing him and what kind of research is being done anywhere in the world to find a cure.”

She spent the next fifteen minutes filling me in, between ugly sobs and sips of chardonnay, on everything she’d learned about the condition killing her baby brother. I’d thought as I watched her this morning with Chris that she was handling this thing with unbelievable dignity and emotional control.

But now that she was away from him, she was a blubbering, weepy mess. I mentally kicked myself for not remembering Katherine had done a movie and some TV stuff and was herself no stranger to playing a part. It was all a big act for her brother’s benefit. In reality, she was barely holding it together.

“Alright, Katie. You need to know everything’s different now. You’re not alone anymore, to carry this thing all by yourself. I’m gonna be here for you, any time you need me—to talk, or even if you just need someone to scream at, day or night. Call me or I’ll meet you anywhere.

“I’m getting a place here in LA to be close to you guys. I already laid it out to my manager this afternoon that I’m going to be out of reach for awhile, and she’s going to get me out of some appearances over the next few months and stall some others.

“The main thing is, we’re not giving up on this thing, Kate. One way or another, I’m going to find someone who’s going to help your brother. I’m not letting him go, and neither are you. Not when I finally find out Chris loves me and wants a life with me. By God, you’re gonna have those nieces and nephews to spoil. I’m going to see to it that Chris becomes the dad he wanted to be.”

“But Zach—“

“No buts about it, girl. It’s already morning in Europe. As soon as we hang up, I’m spending the rest of the night contacting that Swedish clinic and getting in touch with as many experts as they can recommend to find out everything being done about this condition, anywhere in the world. And then tomorrow, I’m picking up Chris and we’re spending time at the beach, just being close, like we haven’t gotten to do in ages.”

“Uh, about that, Zach. You might want to be on the lookout for something Chris kind of cooked up with friends for tomorrow, just to throw you off. Be...expecting it, okay? You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I snorted. “That gives me time to prepare mentally for anything he throws at me. I think that’s best for now until I come up with some news. And then, we can tell him together. Hopefully he’ll finally be ready to bring your parents in on it and we’ll all go together from there.”

“Thank you so much for trying, Zach. I just pray it works. We can fly him anywhere on the planet, for anything, for experimental treatments if there’s even a tiny chance it will keep my brother with us. And if there’s something I can do, somewhere you need me to go to meet with doctors, or paperwork they need, just anything, tell me. I can even take a sabbatical from my practice and find another therapist to take over my patients for awhile. We’ve got to hurry, Zach. The one thing we can’t afford is extra time.”

"I know, sweetie, and I will hurry. I’ll call you tomorrow and report anything I learn tonight. Don’t let go of hope, Katie. I’ve got you. I’ve got you both.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Really, Pine. You’ve got enough cream on your nose to block out a nuclear explosion.”  
  
“Embarrassed are you, huh? Tough, I want some sun but not enough to mess up the pretty. I have to start filming again in a couple of days, and makeup gets really incensed when they have to camouflage peeling sunburn.”

I brought a king size quilt to spread over the blistering sand, and Chris brought his folks’ new patio umbrella to protect from the most intense of the sun’s damage. I’d packed several flavored and sparkling waters and some seed snacks, knowing Chris wouldn’t be touching those, just to see what his excuse would be for refusing them. I wanted to watch him in action.

We’d reminisced and laughed about our old press tour days all the way from his house, and we’d sung along with a few classics from Pine’s playlist. He packed his guitar, and not to be outdone, I tossed in my banjo for good measure. There weren’t many on the sand today, so no worries about scaring off the tourists and beach bums. Last time we’d worked on anything together, we’d tried to learn “Dueling Banjos.” Chris had his part down but insisted I not quit my day job.

As the sun climbed to peak, we lazily enjoyed staring across the hypnotic waves, trading insults and rolling over frequently enough to even out our darkening tans. When the conversation lagged, we dozed off for a few minutes here and there.

We were enjoying a peaceful, uninterrupted day in paradise when a couple of leggy, glamorous, not quite legally clad blondes strolled over to us from where they’d been sunbathing down the beach not far from the lifeguard station.

“Chris! Chris Pine,” one of them giggled provocatively. “I thought that was you! Jen, you remember Chrissy from the club last week, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, you’re that hot actor who bought us drinks. And you and Mia talked about how she has the same name as that actress in that one movie you were in. Wow, that was a fun night,” she practically purred. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a really great dancer? I guess they teach you that at acting school, don’t they?”

“Oh sure I remember you ladies. Fuck yeah, that was me. I did buy you drinks. Lots of them, I seem to remember. And then we drove out to that other beach and played around in the water. Yeah, that...uh...that _was_ a...very memorable night,” Chris flirted, surreptitiously flexing his arm muscles just a little bit. Couldn’t blame him. His arms were ripped. It was certainly working for me.

“Chrissy, come go walking with us,” Mia pleaded, reaching down and pulling his hand. “There’s fewer people down the beach that way. We could maybe have more fun like we did before. You wanna? Come on with us, baby. I’m in the mood if you are.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jen grabbed his other hand. “I remember just how you like it.”

Chris let the girls pull him up, nodding back to me. “Oh, ladies, I came with my friend, uh, Zach here.”

The girls giggled lustily even louder. “Well, bring your hot sexy friend along. You can both come again. With us. Does he like it both ways like you do?”

“Nah, he’s pure gay. He only likes it with guys.”

“Oh, he’s your boyfriend then,” Mia pouted. “Come on Chrissy, if he doesn’t wanna go along, the two of us can make you forget all about him.”

“No, you don’t understand. I came here with Zach in his car. I won’t have a way home if I go with you lovely ladies.” Chris shrugged back at me, winking.

“Oh, we have our car, silly. We can take you home later. Unless, of course, you want us to take you home right now,” Jen propped both hands on his shoulder, seductively nosing his neck.

“Even better!” Chris grinned wickedly. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable there, and I keep my bar well-stocked. And of course there's the private hot tub.”

“Ooooo, and nobody there to bother us, right, Chrissy?” Mia’s eyes glittered with eagerness. “Let’s go now! Come on, baby.” She began tugging him away from the quilt.

Chris called back, “You okay with this, Zach? I mean, it was almost time to leave anyway, and now you don’t have to go out of your way to drop me off.”  
  
“Well....wait a minute, ladies,” I teased. “Do you happen to have any cute brothers?” They cooed and snickered, eyeing each other, while I took notice of the surprise in Chris’s eyes. “I mean, I just went through a hard breakup. I haven’t had any fun like that in months. I’m a little...lonely these days.”

“No, neither of us has a brother, but I have a really cute single cousin who’s into guys,” Mia offered. “You want me to call him up? He could join us and we could all make a big night of it! I like to watch...”

“Zach can’t go—he has meetings later, don’t you Zachy? He’s way too busy right now. Maybe another time, okay?” I’d swear Chris’s shimmering blue eyes had just turned a very alluring shade of green.

“Whatever you say, man. Maybe next time, girls. I’ll be in town for a few more days. You can get my number from Chrissy. I’ll look forward to hearing from you...or your cute cousin. Don’t forget about me, okay?

“And Chris, I’ll get all this stuff together myself. You go on with the girls, and maybe I’ll see you again before I leave LA. If not, I’ll text you when I get back to New York.” I started gathering up everything we brought. “Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll get the umbrella back to your parents’ house. You hurry on. I got all this.”

Chris looked genuinely freaked. Totally worth it, to watch the little shit's reaction when his prank backfired, big time. 


	9. Chapter 9

I don’t make it halfway back to my hotel before Pine’s "Fly Me To The Moon" ringtone startles me out of my brooding.

Uh, no,  _Chrissy._  You don’t pull that shit on me and then call to apologize...or whatever you have on your mind.

Even though Katie had clued me in on the sham and I’d acted all nonchalant in front of Pine and his co-conspirators, I am seething. I know very well he’s not banging those girls, but still. _Buddy, you can just stew in your own mess for awhile._

I have no intention whatsoever of listening while the girls fawn all over him in the background so he can rub it in more. But instead of leaving a message, he just keeps calling back. By the fourth time, I’ve had enough. It's either power off the phone or answer and listen to whatever ridiculous absurdity he’s got on his mind—and switching off the phone isn’t an option.

I answer, but I don’t even give him a chance to speak. Two can play at this game. “Listen, Pine, you’ve got some nerve. Those girls were gonna hook me up and you cockblocked—”

“Mr. Quinto, thank God you finally answered," the frantic voice of one of the girls interrupts. “We need your help! Chris has collapsed. He's unconscious! I got his phone and scrolled through his contacts till I saw your name. We know you’re his best friend, he talks about you all the time. What should we do? Do we drive him to the hospital or call an ambulance to come to us?"

My blood turns cold. “Is this Mia? Are you parked somewhere or still driving?”

“Yes, it's Mia. No, no! We’re pulled over in a parking lot by a small store. Mr. Quinto, we’re really scared. Chris is so pale. I checked and he’s breathing but he’s…God, he’s just so pale.”

“Stick tight right there, Mia. You’ve got your own phones with you, right? You stay on the phone with me and have Jen call 9-1-1 on hers and do whatever they tell you. Text me the address where you are, and I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

As Mia recounts the past few minutes, I enter their address into my GPS and head that direction. “And we were on the way to drop Chris off at his house and he was riding in the backseat alone. He started moaning and then suddenly lay over in the seat, clutching his head. When Jen asked him what was wrong, he said he was going to be sick and asked me to pull over at a drive-thru or somewhere, soon as possible. I found this store where I thought he could go in and use their facilities, but he barely made it out of the car before he started throwing up on the ground. He was hanging onto the side of the car and then suddenly just passed out. We tried to wake him up, but he won't respond!

“Mr. Quinto, I promise we didn’t do anything to Chris. We didn’t even touch him. Today was all just an elaborate trick he wanted to play on you. Jen and I met Chris on the set of Wonder Woman last year. We were extras and had a few lines with Steve Trevor. That's it. We hadn’t heard from Chris in months until he called us yesterday and promised us tickets for our boyfriends and us to an Angels game if we’d help him pull this off in front of you. He told us to play it up like bimbos and make it believable. It sounded like fun, and we'd always wanted to meet you. He even assured us he’d recovered from his fall last week and I believed him. Do you think this has anything to do with his accident?”

“I don’t know, Mia, but it could. He was supposed to be taking it easy for a few days. It's not your fault. It's really mine for taking him out to the beach today in the first place.”

“I feel awful, Mr. Quinto. He’s just so….oh, wait, I hear a siren. That must be the ambulance getting close now. Hang on and I’ll let you listen to what they say. I’ll find out which hospital they’re taking him to.”

As I overhear the EMT's try to get Chris to respond, I’m sick with guilt. What was I thinking, bringing Chris out to the beach so soon after his accident? I had no idea if his concussion was healed enough for so much activity, not to mention the disease that was killing him. I had only selfishly focused on spending time with him alone and helping him have some fun.

Some fun this turned out to be. Another hospital trip for him.

As soon as the ambulance driver mentions where they’re taking Chris, I make a u-turn, knowing a quicker way to get there, in hopes I can reach the emergency room soon after the ambulance arrives. I listen in to their conversations a few more minutes, trying to find out more about Chris’s status before I call his parents and Katie. I'm thinking it would be less scary for them that way, having the latest info rather than just my fearful speculation.

The ambulance does beat me there, but just barely. As I run through the emergency entrance, I see Mia and Jen sitting there holding hands, shaking and distraught, still dressed in swimwear, though they’d added cover-ups. I'd tossed on a shirt in the car. “Zach,” they call out, rushing to me. “They’ve taken Chris to a treatment room. They said he still hasn’t regained consciousness yet. But they promised to come out and tell us as soon as they know anything,” Jen assures me. “They told us all we can do is wait, but they did recommend we call his family. Since you’re friends with them, we thought we’d leave that to you.”

“Thanks, that’s a good idea. I do want to see what the doctor says first. I don’t want to alarm his family needlessly, but I’m as scared as you are right now. If I did something to make him worse—”

“Here, sit down with us, Zach. No, don’t think that way. Yesterday on the phone, Chris was all excited about today and getting out of the house with you. He must have thought he was well enough to do so. Oh, wait—there’s somebody coming out now.”

We quickly stand as a woman in scrubs appears from the restricted ER area and approaches us. "Mr. Pine is awake now but groggy. He said he's had a concussion recently. Can you tell me anything about that?"

"Yes," I answer. "He fell off a platform last Friday and was taken to Cedars, but it was just minor. We thought he was okay by now."

"I see." She wrote something on her clipboard. "We’ll call Cedars and find out more details. Mr. Pine will be admitted for some tests and observation overnight so we can find out for sure what's going on. They'll let you know when he's settled in a room and you can see him, but it’s going to be awhile. We just needed to verify about the concussion. Are you family?”

‘Yes, I’m his partner,” I lie, hopefully convincing her.

Thanking the attendant, I turn my attention back to the girls. “Thanks for taking care of him and getting help so quickly. You can go now, and I’ll make sure those tickets get to you by the end of the week.”

“Chris has our numbers. Please let us know how he’s doing. And,” Mia whispers, “you guys aren’t really partners, are you?”

I nod my head, “Yes we are, as far as anyone around here needs to know. I’ll call you later. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of that. Oh, and ladies, for the record, I was kidding about having your cousin call me. Thanks anyway.”

"That's okay," Mia chirps. "I don't actually have a cute gay cousin, either. He's really not that cute," she winks. 

I decide to call Katherine first and let her get in touch with her parents since Chris is being admitted. I haven't even had a chance yet to tell her everything I'd learned from all my inquiries last night. I haven't yet found anyone with a cure or treatment, but I'm getting much closer. I already have a new list of leads to call tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

Finally, the breakthrough I’d barely dared hope for.

After hundreds of phone calls chasing leads for the second night in a row, I was put in touch with a Dr. Dierk Hoffman, chief medical officer of a private institute in Hamburg, Germany, renowned as the world's leading medical research facility. He in turn put me through to Dr. Ilse Voigt, who for the past five years headed their neuropathology department, specializing in “rare and complicated” syndromes of the brain.

As we spoke through an interpreter, I explained about Chris and his previous diagnosis. The despair clutching my chest the past few days finally loosed its grip a little as she assured me of her familiarity with the very syndrome which was killing the man I loved. I related everything that had happened recently to Chris, especially his fall and concussion, and she eagerly agreed to look into his case. I'd never been so relieved in my life. It wasn't a cure, but it was the very first glimmer of hope I’d sensed from anyone.  
  
Dr. Voigt instructed me to have both of Chris's west coast and European specialists forward their complete reports and test results to her, adding she needed me to document my own observations of Chris’s behavior during activities such as work and exercise over the years, plus any mental or physical quirks I'd ever noticed, and indicate whether they’d started more recently or had been present the entirety of our acquaintance. She requested I have Katie do the same.

The doctor planned to correlate all this and search for patterns which might reveal less obvious symptoms his previous doctors missed. She believed a much more in depth study of Chris's lifelong health and behaviors would help determine the onset and acuteness of each symptom.

As soon as the sun came up, I grabbed a cup of coffee and called Katherine, relaying everything Dr. Voigt told me. Her voice shook with tears as she updated me, "The doctors here at the hospital insist Chris remain for more tests, but Chris, of course, argues he's fine, and he’s threatening to check himself out. It's getting more difficult to hide things from our parents, too. They still think this collapse is related to his accident last week, but I don't know how much longer they're going to buy that.

“I've got to figure out a way to get Chris alone and get the details Dr. Voigt needs. God, Zach. After the Swedish specialists quashed any hope Chris had about beating this thing, he’s going to be ecstatic to hear about this. I could never thank you enough for all you’re doing. I'm just grateful you learned the truth when you did."

"Your brother certainly didn't make it easy for me," I groused. "When all this is over, I plan to exact my revenge, believe me." I attempted to portray a lightheartedness I didn't feel, to try to lift Katie’s spirits. She insisted she’d take care of all Dr. Voigt’s requests and then we’d meet at her house later that afternoon to compare notes and make sure we had everything covered, before emailing it to Hamburg by early morning, their time.

“For now, I’m going to catch some sleep, and I’ll visit Chris at the hospital after I see you—that is, if he hasn’t done anything stupid and disappeared,” I advised.

When I arrived at Katie’s that afternoon, I saw Gwynne’s car sitting in front. Fuck. This would only waste more time before Kate and I could finish up our reports in privacy. But when I rang the bell, it was both Katie and her mom who opened the door. There wasn’t even a hello.

“Zach, dear, I really expected better from you.”

Oh shit. The dreaded  _eyes of disappointment_ from Chris’s mom. I’d usually go to the ends of the Earth to keep from falling under that sweet, hurt look, but this time I’d done my best to perpetuate the Pine kids’ guise. Obviously, somehow we’d gotten caught. Katie moved aside to let me in, but I didn’t dare move yet.

Steepling my hands together, I shrank, “Gwynne, I’m so,  _so_  very sorry. I—“

“Zach, I’m fully aware how Chris has always had his sister wrapped around his little finger to do his bidding and cover for him, but you? I thought you’d always been the one in his life who exercised more sound judgment. How did you let him draw you into his web of deceit?”

This time it was more than just  _the look_. Her face was tense, her eyes red and puffy from crying.  As she finally motioned me to enter, neither of the Pine ladies offered hugs as they led me to Katie's kitchen nook table by the blindingly sunny bay windows. It was covered with papers, and Katherine’s laptop stood open. She sat back down in front of it, with Gwynne’s chair pulled as close to hers as possible. I took the chair across from them.

“She and Dad found out a couple of hours ago from a hospital aide who assumed they knew everything about Chris’s health,” Katherine explained. “Daddy stayed at the hospital to keep an eye on Chris, while Mom came to grill...uh, to learn all she could from me about what’s been going on. I had to tell her everything. And since you were due to show up here any minute, that means I had to tell her how you fit in, too.”

“Mrs. Pine,” I interrupted. “Please believe me that Katie begged Chris to tell you and Robert the truth. And Chris isn’t even aware yet that I know. I overheard Katie and him whispering about it at your house Sunday night before I got sick.”

“I guess that explains why you fell apart yourself.” Gwynne stood back up and began pacing, wringing her hands. “What are we going to do, Zach? I’m not standing by and allow my baby to die without doing everything that can be done on this planet to save him.”

“I know, Gwynne, and neither are we. That’s why I’m here. Actually, I’m very relieved you and Robert finally know—it will make it easier to get a more accurate picture of Chris’s health since he was little."

“Katherine did explain everything you’ve done. We’re so grateful to you, Zach, for finding this...Dr. Voigt, is it? We’ve been sitting here recounting every little thing we can remember ever noticing about Chris. We have a running list here. Why don’t you look it over and add to it if there’s anything you can think of we missed.” Gwynne sank back into her chair and studied the notes she’d jotted down from her own recollections.

We spent the next hour going over Chris’s life, year by year, injury by injury, illness by illness, until we’d pooled together a comprehensive record of everything we'd ever seen. A clear pattern emerged so obvious that even I couldn’t miss it. Things we’d witnessed but never thought anything about, like Chris tripping so often. We’d written those off as Chris being a klutz and joked about it for years. Now, we realized that it hadn’t been a joking matter at all. There was truly something there that should have been looked into long ago.

Chris always being hungry, and now knowing it was because he couldn’t keep food on his stomach—we now suspected he'd been hiding that since before the first Trek movie, when JJ had insisted he gain a few pounds. My own stomach churned with guilt that I’d made light of all this for as long as I’d known him, along with everyone else, never dreaming it could all add up to be symptomatic of something dangerous.

“Zach, stop. I can see your thoughts spinning. You’re no more to blame than any of us for not realizing something was going on; that it wasn't just Chris being Chris. We couldn’t know.” Gwynne was weeping again, her face in her hands, clearly feeling her own guilt in spite of her admonition to me.

“She’s right, Z. Chris always laughed it off himself. If he didn’t suspect anything, how could we? And we’re closer to him than anyone.” Katie’s eyes shone with tears too, shaking her head absently, stunned that we could all be so blind.

“Well, you’re right that none of us has time to waste feeling guilty right now anyway. Let’s scan all this in and email it off. Maybe by tomorrow morning our time, we’ll have the answers we need and some possibilities for treatment."

"And Bob and I will look into chartering a plane and having it on standby to take us all to Hamburg when they’re ready for Chris," Gwynne added. "You included, Zach."


	11. Chapter 11

They searched everywhere.

I’d run by the hospital to check on Chris after we finished at Katie’s. Instead, I find Robert Pine, the sweet, congenial, even-tempered father of actor Christopher Pine, standing in the hall outside Chris’s room, yelling and swearing at every doctor, nurse, aide, staff member, attendant, case worker, chaplain, custodian, and a very cowed guy refilling the snack machine. I freeze in place, gaping slack-jawed, while security officers rush at him, restraining his arms and threatening him to calm down or else they’d have to remove him.

“By God, where is Chris?” Robert is making quite a spectacle of himself, thrashing in their hold, practically out of his mind. Then he sees me and yells “Zach!” loud enough the walls rumble. I shake off my stupor and jog up to grab his arms as much as the officers will let me.

“Robert! Bob, what’s happened?” I turn to the officers and lie that I’m his son-in-law. They don’t know differently, and I figure I’ll have a better chance of intervening if they believe I’m family.

“I went to get a snack in the cafeteria. A damned apple, Zach! I come back and Chris is nowhere to be found. His clothes and shoes are gone! They just let him casually walk away. My Chris is fucking dying, and they just neglect to notice that he disappears!” Robert turns his head toward the nurse’s station. “What the hell kind of hospital are you people running here?”

“Robert, you’ve got to settle down or they’re going to kick us out. I know you’re upset, but you can’t do this here,” I speak softly, motioning to our surroundings. “Let’s get out of here and call Gwynne and Katie and see if they’ve heard from him.”

I check the officer’s badges. “Officer...Simmons, Officer Diaz. May I take him now? He won’t make any more trouble, I promise. But as you hear, his son is missing. You can understand his reaction.”

“Your son is missing? Why didn’t you say so?” Officer Diaz pulls out a small notepad and pen. “I need your child’s name, age and height, hair color, and any distinguishing features. Write it all down here, plus what you think he’s wearing.” The officer leans his face toward the radio microphone attached to his shoulder and keys it. “I have an APB on a runaway youth, a young male attempting to leave hospital grounds without release. He is—“

“No, no, wait!” I unconsciously grasp Diaz’s arm, and when he flinches I quickly let go. “I’m sorry. He’s not a child. He’s almost forty.”

“Forty?” Officer Diaz looks at me, puzzled. “Okay. Is he...mentally incapacitated in some way? Who should my people be looking for?”

“No, it’s just that he’s left on his own. He’s still very ill and his doctors didn’t release him. He sneaked out past everyone. We need to find him, though, if you can as soon as possible. What can we officially do here? I don’t know if you legally can stop and hold him? I just thought, if your people come across him, they could detain him so we can bring him back up here.”

“Sure, give me a description, detailed as possible.”

“Uh, Officer, it’s Chris Pine...you know, the actor? Captain Kirk, the newest Star Trek movies? Or maybe you know him as Steve Trevor in Wonder Woman movies?”

“Oh my God,  _that’s_  who’s missing? And you say he...still needs to be under medical care?”

“Yes, very much. He's very ill.”

"Oh, I recognize you now. You're that Spock guy." The officer keys his mic again and relays the corrected information to the others in and around the building. “If he’s still on the grounds, they’ll find him. We’ll know in the next few minutes.”

We stay there waiting with him, but no one reports seeing Chris anywhere. We’re too late. He might have caught a cab, but there’s always a chance he’d arranged for a car or friends to pick him up. Pine was apparently long gone before we even knew he’d left.

As we walk together down to the parking garage, Robert calls Gwynne; neither she nor Katie has heard from him. “I’m guessing Chris just went home, Mr. Pine,” I try to console him. “He still doesn’t feel well. I can’t imagine he'd want to go anywhere else. Why don’t you go wait with Gwynne and I’ll drive by his house. Did you tell him you found out everything—the truth?”

“No, he has no idea the family knows his secret. I thought it best to wait till his mother and sister were with me, and we’d support him as a family. Honestly, I don’t even know whether that would’ve been the right way to handle it or not.” Robert stands there, looking as lost as I’ve ever seen him. My heart aches for Chris’s entire family. It must be hell for all of them.

“When you get there, Gwynne has news for you. She’ll tell you all about a doctor I discovered who’s familiar with Chris’s illness. We’re hoping she takes Chris on as her patient and can develop some kind of treatment.” I squeeze his shoulder as tears well up in his eyes. “It’s not hopeless, Robert. I know it feels that way. But we’re going to figure this out. All of us together.”

“Thank God! But you, uh...why are you doing all this, Zach?” He looks up into my eyes. “What’s really going on between you and Chris? You’ve been with someone else for years, and now you’re single again. Did Chris break you guys up?”

“God, Robert, no. No! Your son would never do that. Chris doesn’t even know...”

“Know what, Zach? What does Chris not know?”

I hunch my shoulders, looking away. “I...I’m in love with your son. I have been for years. I hope that doesn’t shock you or anger you or...anything.”

“Hell, no. It’s about damn time you admit it. Chris has been pining for you for years while you’ve been off living in New York. That’s why I was afraid...”

“I swear I didn’t know," I promised. "He never told me. I didn’t find out till I overheard him and Katie talking about it last Sunday night. If I’d known...”

Bob puts his arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, son. You know now. You and Chris can deal with all this after we get him well. But, I have a feeling,” he taps lightly over my heart with his other hand, “it might actually help Chris feel better, give him more strength to fight even harder if you'd come clean with him. I think you should tell him. Now. I mean, if you can find him.”

“So, we have your blessing?”

He slapped me hard on the back. “You guys really are idiots, you know that? Go find Chris and call us when you do. We’ll all meet up with you later and get everything out in the open. Where it should have always been in the first place.”


	12. Chapter 12

I find him sitting high above his vineyard at the very back of his property, gazing across the lush grapevines curled along their wires and posts; his feet propped up on an adjacent chair, legs crossed, drinking what was most likely some nasty tasting, healthful concoction he’d found on YouTube. He's sporting his rattiest, sweat-stained straw hat, his infamous peach espadrilles, his usual body hugging soft, worn out shredded jeans, a sheer white tunic that flutters with the breeze…and an expression of utter defeat.

As I climb up the trail, his eyes are locked on my every step.

This is one of the few times since I’d first met him that no blindingly radiant Pine smile greeted me. As I grow closer, I see his cheeks are wet, and those cute crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes that I adore and want to nuzzle every time I get near enough to see them, are etched much deeper now, perhaps with tension...or pain...or even grief.

This is my fault.

I’m the one who took him to the beach. I made jokes and reminisced about old times, rather than be honest with him.

That stops today. Right now.

He looks up at me. “Hi.” His voice is weak, wrecked, trembling a little in complete, total surrender.

I brace and take a deep breath, falling straight into those eyes tinged even bluer by his tears.

“I’m in love with you, Chris. I have been since practically the first time I met you. I don’t want you to go another second of this life without knowing. Without you being more sure of this than of anything else you’ve ever known. I love you. I.... _love_....you.”

He turns his face away to stare at those silly shoes.

“I know.”

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I... I think maybe I’ve always known.” He looks back at me, turning and pulling his feet off the chair and sticking them back under his own. “Have a seat, Zach.”

I do. But I never take my eyes off his face. All I can think is, what? What now?

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Zach. It’s just...I wasn’t made that way. I love you; I mean, you’re the brother I always wanted. You’ve probably been a better brother than most blood siblings out there.

“But I can’t change what I am, Zachary. Not even for you. And you’ve been with a lot of great guys, cute and funny and...adorable. I know you really loved them, too. I get it that you’re still reeling from your breakup, but that won’t last long. You’ll find someone wonderful soon. It’s just a matter of time.

“And you have friends. New friends...east coast friends. You and I...we’re just....our friendship is...well, it's yesterday. It doesn't...it can't work any more. It made sense back when we saw each other all the time on set; when we lived so close. But now...we’re thousands of miles apart. We have very different, separate lives. And it looks like our Trek filming is over.

“You gotta look out there to the future, man. Just...keep looking.” He grimaces almost imperceptibly, probably from some twinge of pain. I’m thinking, though, it’s more than just physical.

“Absolutely, Chris,” I assure him. “Of course you're right. I’m sure I’ll find love again. Maybe around the next corner. There’s always somebody new out there, right? I mean, same for you. Another actress, another model. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even find another model for me,” I wink, chuckling.

“Tha...that's the spirit, Z,” he weakly agrees. “You have a long life ahead of you still. You have plenty of time to just have fun, and eventually find the right one. Again.”

I force a sardonic grin at him. Standing up, I turn away, looking off across the tree-covered hills. My face is wet, too. A long life. With no Chris in it.

I turn back around and look down into his gorgeous, gorgeous face; the face I’ve kissed a thousand times in my dreams through the years.

“You...................................................

 

.......................................FUCKER!!!”

I suddenly have to grab hold of Chris's chair as he flails, crying out "What the fuck?!" while frantically fighting to keep from toppling over onto the ground.

“Dammit, Pine. You’re such an ass!

“You tell me the truth," I demand. "You sit right there and look in my face and tell me you’re in love with me, back. Admit it!”

He sits slack jawed, gaping wildly at me while his truth remains stubbornly hidden behind his lips.

“No, Chris. You're not gonna get away with denying it this time. I know you’re in love with me, you little shit. I heard you and Katie talking. I know all about how you’ve been told you don't have long to live. You’re sitting way back out here all alone, contemplating the few remaining weeks of life you think you have left, convinced you’re so smart, so sacrificial. Well, fuck it all, Chris, you couldn't be more wrong.

"What, you've somehow decided we're all wimps? You're idiot enough to think Gwynne Pine, who suffered through labor with you and gave you birth, is now somehow just too fragile to handle the truth about your illness? Trust me, Pine. Nobody needs your sacrifice. Not your family that loves you, and for fuck sure not me!

“Which aches worse, Pine? Is it your head...or your heart? Because dammit, I’m not stopping until both are fixed. I just found a specialist in Germany who thinks they might be able to help you.

“But first, I’m going to help you with my part right here, right now.” I kneel in front of his chair, hands pressing his knees, while Chris just gazes at me, tears streaming. Speechless, a state I've never seen him in before.

“I might have a long life in front of me, like you said. But none of us knows what tomorrow brings. You and I both have friends who died young, full of potential; struck down unexpectedly, by illness or accident or drug overdose, or God forbid, even murder or suicide. There are no guarantees...for either of us. For anybody.

“Except I  _can_  guarantee you this. Christopher Whitelaw Pine, I am out of my mind in love with you, and I’m never leaving you again.

“And I’m not giving up, and I’m not letting you give up, either. YOU are also going to have a long life. And if I have anything to say about it, it’s gonna be a deliriously happy one. With me. With those kids you’ve always wanted. I’VE always wanted...with you.”

“ _Kids?_  But how did you...how... _you_? With...me?” His face drains to a ghostly white even Casper would envy.

“I’m gonna marry you, Pine. Or if you won’t, I’m just gonna...hang around where you live, stash my clothes in one of your spare closets, mingle my toiletries with yours all over your bathroom counter. And I’m going to fuck you and fuck you, over and over, for as long as my body works. And when it doesn’t any more, we'll have fun finding other ways to do it. I’m gonna make love to you all over this planet. And I’m gonna do whatever it takes to keep that earth-moving smile of yours glowing every day. You’re gonna have to fight your own lips to stop smiling long enough for us to get a decent kiss going every once in awhile.

“You’re mine, Christopher, and I'm yours. It’s you and me against the world. Against this thing in your brain that's trying to break you and steal you from me, from all of us. We’re going to beat this thing, together.”

Chris’s shoulders tremble, as he snuffles noisily.

“Za—” his voice breaks as his breath hitches uncontrollably. “Zach...I need...tissues.” He sniffs and looks at me through blurry wet, mischievous eyes. “Or, lend me your sleeve, either one. I can’t use mine. This is my favorite shirt and I don’t want to snot all over it.”

That’s it. I don’t care about anything but touching him. I huff, grabbing him, lifting us both up to stand, pulling him to me so tightly he has no choice but to wipe his nose on my shoulder, my neck. Hell, probably even in my hair. I don’t care. This man is my heart, my soul, and though these are the first body fluids we’ve ever shared, it’s a good start.


	13. Chapter 13

I woke up for the very first time to the warmth of Chris’s back spooned against me, my arm draped around him. I'd dreamed of this moment, ached for this moment for longer than I could remember. We were both fully dressed; we'd done nothing more than talk well into the night and hold each other as we drifted off, but these were already the most magical hours of my life. I wanted to stay right here, like this, forever, listening to him breathe, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my arm, memorizing the scent of his skin, the softness of his hair tickling my lips. I would not lose Chris. I wouldn't let anything or anyone take this love away from me ever again—especially not my own stupid dishonesty.

It brought to mind the lyrics to an old  _Bread_  song. "If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die...I'd spend the end with you, and when the world was through...Then one by one the stars would all go out...Then you and I would simply fly away."

As I lay there, I thought about last evening, when Mr. Pine had called a family meeting at their house after I texted them about finding Chris. They’d invited us to come early for dinner as he and Gwynne were grilling their favorite citrus chimichurri on their new back patio, and we arrived soon enough to help prepare the chicken and veggies, working easily together as we had in the old days, when we lived so close.

Everything smelled amazing. But then, suddenly everywhere I looked, colors were more vibrant, scents more fragrant, as though I were seeing the world through new eyes. All because of Chris’s love.  Because of the way he was looking at me, touching me, brushing past me with secret gentle pinches. I never knew anything could feel like this. I thought I’d known love—being loved, loving someone. But nothing before in my life even began to compare with this.

After we enjoyed the delectable foods and cleared the patio table, it was time for everyone to gather under the umbrella’s shade and come clean about the secrets they'd been guarding.

Chris began by explaining the events leading him to realize something was seriously wrong that could no longer be ignored. How he learned of his diagnosis from the European clinics he'd sneaked off to, desperately seeking second or third or fourth opinions—anyone who would exonerate him from this death sentence. With each trip, the doctors had been more convinced that his condition was terminal, and they’d sent him back to the states advising him to set his affairs in order and say his goodbyes.

Of course, Chris had done the exact opposite: he told no one, and he delved headlong into as many projects, for as many hours a day, as possible. His intention was to complete all his contractual obligations while he could, and cram years’ worth of dream projects into the short time he had left. He planned to go down swinging for the fences.  
  
But to me, it seemed more like he was bent on suicide by work schedule; to take control of what little he could, rather than exist at the mercy of death’s timetable. 

It was the real reason he walked out of our movie negotiations—he knew he might not last through the end of filming, and that would cost the studio and everyone involved, especially his closest friends, a fortune to lose their lead actor halfway through the project. Chris was remembering the tragic story of Jeffrey Hunter, and how his sad, untimely death could have ended the Star Trek franchise had their first pilot been accepted and he continued as the lead, rather than reworking the series and going a different direction with Bill Shatner at the helm.

Katie admitted she'd noticed changes in Chris's demeanor and appearance in both social media photos and at a couple of public events, which led her to snoop around Chris's home office one Sunday afternoon during a family dinner her brother hosted at his place. Chris had caught her, evidence in hand, which included lots of test results and medical forms, at which time he enlisted her as his co-conspirator to hide the truth.

Everyone already knew how I learned the facts by eavesdropping on that whispered conversation the Sunday night I got in from San Diego and how devastated I’d been feeling for weeks, believing Chris was ending our friendship.

After lots of shared tears and hugs and support for the youngest Pine, I gave everyone a complete rundown of everything I'd found out from my many conversations with medical experts all over the world. 

By the time we’d shared everything, we were all emotionally drained and exhausted, but at least the entire truth was out now, and we all firmly promised there would be no more lies, no more withholding information in the attempt to protect each other from pain. We were in this together, a united front for every future step with Chris.

Afterward, Gwynne and Robert insisted I move out of my hotel and into their guest room, where I’d spent one of the most embarrassing nights of my life. It was a very kind invitation; the Pines had always felt like family, and this house like a second home, warm, inviting...sanctuary.

But Chris stepped in, shaking his head and vetoing the idea.

"Not this time, guys,” Chris informed them. “Zach will be staying with me." He squeezed his fingers between mine and brought them to his lips. "Permanently."

The family went nuts, congratulating us and pulling us in for a tight family hug.

"Welcome to the family, son,” Robert embraced me, eyes watering. “This is where you belong."

"Welcome home, Zach." Gwynne was even more radiant than I'd ever seen her. "We've waited a long time for this day. We've known for years Chris loved you."

"I've loved him for years, too," I assured her. "And I’ve also loved you guys all along. You're the family I've always wished for. Oh—don't tell Joe and my mom I said that, okay?" We all laughed. Okay, one secret.

Katie, though, openly wept. "Can you two not be idiots anymore? And Chris, for the record—I told you so!"

More chuckles as he hugged his sister. "Yeah, well, you know what they say about broken clocks. But I admit it. Thanks for the advice."

Chris and I embraced and walked out hand in hand....going home.

 .............................

So lying quietly in bed holding close to Chris, carefully watching him sleep and feeling so grateful for my dumb luck, I finally had to let go when Dr. Voigt called. She had been going over the stacks of documents and records she’d received on Chris’s case and brainstorming with her team over the symptoms presenting throughout his body, starting about the time he turned twenty. They now proposed three hypotheses regarding probable causes, plus treatments and therapies that might prove effective in extending Chris’s life. She never used the word “cure,” but this was only step one. She hadn’t even seen him yet.

There were a multitude of images available of his many MRI’s and scans over the past months, but Dr. Voigt refused to give them more than a perfunctory glance, insisting that would be a counterproductive waste of time. Explaining how her own facility’s state-of-the-art equipment was by far the most advanced of its kind, unequaled anywhere in the world, she was anxious to run her own new diagnostic scans as soon as we could get Chris to her clinic.

Implying she’d discovered what everyone else missed, her voice exuded unbridled excitement and passion about her findings, which her interpreter didn’t bother to recreate but merely translated to English, as the doctor shared medical details I couldn’t begin to understand. But I didn’t need to. They all added up to the fact Chris might finally have a chance.

As soon as I called and woke the family with Dr. Voigt’s news, Robert was on the phone activating the flight plan that had been on standby for the past day. Its pilot would, in turn, make sure the private jet was out of its hangar and fueled, preflight checklist completed, ready and waiting for clearance to take off as soon as its passengers arrived and boarded. The Gulfstream IV was owned by close business associates who made it available as soon as Bob called and informed them of Chris’s diagnosis. The Pines trusted them to be discreet; the last thing anyone needed was for the paps to get word of the family’s personal medical crisis.

Chris and I packed quickly, making sure our passports were in order. Katie went to her parents' house so she could leave her car there, and together they picked us up for the short drive to Van Nuys Airport, where we were directed to drive directly onto the tarmac to the plane which would carry us on the fifteen-hour flight to Chris’s future and the treatments that could finally provide him relief.

Not a bad way to travel, surrounded by luxury and comfort and privacy. But I teared up for a moment, wishing Chris and I were anticipating this European trip as our honeymoon rather than traveling for some dangerous new experimental brain procedure. I wasn’t a praying man, but...

But I’d be willing to paddle us in a decrepit dinghy across the Atlantic myself if it ended with Chris getting well.

We were all too wound up to sleep much, but I insisted on holding Chris close as he fitfully rested and eventually dozed off, drooling and snuffling quietly on my shoulder. Other than the pressurization occasionally intensifying Chris’s pain, the flight was mostly uneventful.

Upon touchdown at Finkenwerder Airport, we were escorted to a limo the institute had waiting to take Chris and the family straight to their medical facility, where we finally got to meet the amazing Dr. Voigt who would change all our lives. Assistants brought a hospital bed to roll Chris immediately to examination.

“Don’t be scared, Zach,” Chris motioned me to the bedside and took my hand. “This is all going to turn out okay.” He squeezed my hand and smiled, crooked and distressed, but definitely a Pine smile, nonetheless.

“Hey,” I bent down, whispering. “It’s supposed to be me encouraging you, not the other way around.”

“I just wanted to make sure before this whole process begins, that another moment doesn’t pass without you knowing this more than anything else you’ve ever known.” His eyes sparkled as he teased me. “If this works—“

“WHEN this works,” I corrected.

“Okay, _when_  this works and they figure out a cure, the answer is yes, you _will_ marry me. After all, it’d be ungrateful of me to turn you into a stalker again.

“And Zachary—I love you back.”

“I know.” I squeezed his hand while kissing his forehead and then watched them wheel him away from us, down a hall and through the ominous double doors separating us from the restricted area where Chris's future would be determined...and therefore, mine as well. We were then shown to a plush, beautifully appointed private lounge to wait for further information.

It wasn’t long until Dr. Voigt’s family liaison, introducing herself as Alexis Engel, joined us with arms full of forms and releases for the Pines to fill out since they didn’t want to waste Chris’s time dealing with them. She also handed us envelopes stuffed with room keys, restaurant gift cards and directions to the closest luxury hotel where they had already prearranged for our lodging. She assured us the limo and driver would be at our disposal for the duration of Chris’s stay.

When Robert looked a bit apprehensive, Ms. Engel apologized for not informing us of these services before we left the states. She assured us that all financial arrangements were already covered by benefactors of their research unit, so we wouldn’t have to concern ourselves with anything but our patient.

Ms. Engel handed us each a FAQ page of her services as the department’s representative. So that the doctors were freed to totally focus on Chris, it would be she giving us regular updates on the steps being taken behind those doors. During those times the medical team was deliberating their next moves, we would be allowed to visit with Chris if he wasn’t sleeping. But she warned that the staff was adamant their patients rest as much as possible.

In the meantime, they were beginning nutrient IV’s immediately; they believed in incorporating a holistic approach to strengthening Chris’s immune, digestive, and enteric nervous systems, focusing not just on his brain, but on full body healing. And as soon as they could finally pinpoint the exact source of Chris’s problems, they would then concentrate their full attention on suppressing, and if possible, removing it. 

It would take time. Our only job right now was to support each other in maintaining a positive frame of mind...and wait.

 

  


_Artwork used by special permission of the artist[Borealisblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borealisblue)_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"IF" -- _David Ashworth Gates, Bread_**
> 
> _If a picture paints a thousand words then why can't I paint you?_  
>  The words will never show the you I've come to know
> 
> _If a face could launch a thousand ships then where am I to go?_  
>  There's no one home but you, you're all that's left me too
> 
> _And when my love for life is running dry_  
>  You come and pour yourself on me
> 
> _If a man could be two places at one time I'd be with you_  
>  Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way
> 
> _If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die_  
>  I'd spend the end with you and when the world was through
> 
>   _Then one by one the stars would all go out, then you and I would simply fly away_
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQyKMueMFGk
> 
> (Ivan's right. The entire song does fit these guys beautifully. I cry every time I hear this song. I started college in 1971. It was an amazing year. All those emotions come flooding to the surface as soon as it starts.) 


	14. Chapter 14

I’ve never been so scared in my life. And I’m the  _least_  anxious person in the waiting room at this point.

Katie, whose always meticulously manicured nails are now mangled to the quick, sits in an overstuffed soft blue arm chair, shoes off, legs folded under her, staring at the wall after a morning of pretending to read every magazine in the waiting area...

Gwynne’s usual Disney mom charm has morphed into Kala, the lioness alert and ready to sink her claws and fangs into anyone or anything that threatens her child.

And then there’s Robert. The father who can't sit down for more than a minute at a time, who has spent most of the morning pacing, which according to Gwynne is exactly what he did while awaiting Katherine's and Chris's births. The kind and forgiving patriarch who nonetheless has set an impossible standard for himself, demanding unwavering strength as backbone of the family, never allowing for the tiniest crack in his armor.

And I can’t help worrying—if worst comes to worst, where will Robert turn when he’s the one who cracks under the pain of losing his precious son, if he won’t allow those closest to him to share his anguish now? This son he admires, for whom he’s always shown button-popping pride. Whom he loves like a rock. Would he allow himself to be comforted or would he comfort everyone else but insist on grieving in solitude?

I am this ridiculous mess who can’t seem to control my thoughts, which over and over scream in my head like a needy child,  _Chris, please please don't do this. Don't leave me. Live. I want you. I want us so badly. You die?........You take the best part of me with you. Don’t do it. Don’t go...._  
  


...............  
  


The surgery had been scheduled for early the next morning, Hamburg time, after we arrived at the clinic. And now, Chris has been in surgery for agonizingly long hours already. Even though Ms. Engel had forewarned us it would necessarily be a very long and tedious surgery with each step requiring meticulous precision, still it is proving almost impossible to mentally and emotionally endure this seemingly long of a wait with any modicum of grace. We’d each been provided an outline of all the procedures the surgical team would be performing today, so it's not that we don’t understand. We want them to take as much time as necessary, as we hold on to the idea that as long as the surgery is proceeding, it means Chris is still alive.

As promised, Ms. Engel briefs us each hour on Chris’s status, ticking off the steps completed so far and what the surgical team faces next. This is a robotic-assisted operation. Dr. Voigt and her team had completed the strategic craniotomy through Chris’s skull and are now focused on the delicate laser incisions enabling them to reach a small lesion previously hidden deep in Chris’s cerebellum. Its slow but incessant growth had increasingly disrupted his equilibrium for years and, by extension, affected other parts of his body, including his ability to digest normally. So many symptoms, so much impact from one tiny aberration.

Though hospital staff often come by to keep up our spirits and encourage us to snack and take breaks walking around the hospital, we're all too anxious to leave this room. As such, the research department has their cafeteria chef bring in a delicious, healthy lunch of grilled salmon and assorted vegetables and salad directly to our waiting lounge. Of course, as lovely as it is, none of us feels like eating. Ms. Engel insists we try, though, reminding us we won't be much help to Chris if we don't take care of ourselves, too.

“I just wish my boy were in here sharing this with us instead of in...in there,” Gwynne shakes her head quietly to herself as we stand around the serving table poking around the food, taking what we think we can handle onto our plates. “I know that sounds silly.  But, I just can’t help feeling that way.”

Robert puts down his plate and reaches around her waist, hugging gently. “I know what you mean, babe. It’s not logical, but I just want all this over; to be back home with everything normal. And just think, Gwynne, after Dr. Voigt finishes, our son will be able to enjoy a beautiful meal like this without getting sick for the first time in...almost twenty years.”

“I’m afraid when it comes to logic, Spock and I have absolutely nothing in common today,” I admit. “I keep going over and over the times at work or on press tours when I’d notice Chris not feeling well, or stumbling for no reason. He always made light of it—he joked about it more than anyone. I never even suspected....” Tears appear out of nowhere, choking me. 

It’s Katie who puts her arm around me in comfort. “It’s not your fault, Zach. It’s not Chris’s, it’s not mom and dad’s, it’s not mine. None of us is trained to notice symptoms of some crazy obscure brain anomaly we've never heard of. Chris was still acting normally, or what we all thought was normal, anyway; having fun, joking around, cutting up. Being a busy actor and meeting his contracts. He was just living life. Nobody could know—not Chris, not us. It’s okay. No more guilt.” We take our plates and sit around a tastefully and expensively decorated dining table at the side of the lounge.

“BUT...if you just  _need_  to feel guilty about something,” Katie taunts, ”think about how you should have married my brother years ago, you ass!” She smacks me with her napkin. “But you’ll fix that glaring mistake, right?”

“Yes, Zach, we’re depending on you,” Gwynne insists. “And Bob and your mom and I will throw you guys the wedding of the century.”

“Now hold on. What’s wrong with Vegas? We could just gift them the money,” Robert interjects, always the pragmatist. “We can still be there to watch. Who would pass up a trip to Vegas?”

We all laugh, shattering the tension a little. It’s like beautiful music after the past few hours of strained silence. “I’d be completely happy though," I offer, "if the hospital chaplain would come by and perform the ceremony right here, as soon as Chris is awake. Although, I don’t know that my mother would ever forgive us if Chris and I were to—“

“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Pine, Zach...Katie.” Ms Engel interrupts, her eyes tense with concern. We all look up at her, having not even noticed she’d entered the room. “I have some news. Chris’s heart...”


	15. Chapter 15

We all jumped up, terrified. “What are you saying?” I demanded, my own heart pounding, nauseous panic drowning me.

Robert pulled Gwynne to his chest as she whimpered, “Oh my God...no...”

This time it was Katie who held it together. “Everybody, hold on. Ms. Engel, just tell us what’s happened. What about Chris’s heart?”

Ms. Engel hesitated slightly. “Dr. Voigt doesn’t know why, but Chris experienced cardiac arrest a few moments ago as they finally reached the site of the lesion. They were able to resuscitate him, but the doctor needs to know whether you want them to continue or terminate the procedure.”

“We want them to heal him, of course,” Gwynne gazed at her, incredulous. “But there wasn’t anything wrong with his heart...I don’t understand...what did they do that stopped his heart?”

“There isn’t time to go into a lot of detail, but it has to do with how deeply embedded the lesion is in the brain. That’s what makes this entire technique so critical; the affected tissue is located in an integral section of the cerebellum, and Dr. Voigt is probing much further internally than any previous surgery of this type.

“This is a groundbreaking procedure, and it is crucial that surrounding neural tissue remain as undisturbed as possible. You already know the cerebellum is involved with voluntary motor function; however, the damaged area lies close to the brain stem, and researchers have yet to ascertain exactly how brain cells interact with each other. There are trillions of connections.

“Basically, we don’t know why Chris’s heart stopped, nor do we know whether other body functions may become affected as the team advances. Since we do not know why it occurred, we cannot guarantee there will be no reoccurrence should you choose for Dr. Voigt to continue.”

“Wait, wait,” Robert interrupted, holding up his hand, Gwynne sobbing into his shoulder. “So you’re saying this is that worst case scenario possibility we signed all those wavers about? That if this procedure continues, Chris’s heart could stop again? Or maybe something else could go wrong with some other organ or some other part of his body, totally unexpected?” 

“Yes, but remember, Chris is still alive. The team is doing everything possible to prevent or minimize any unanticipated issues. And I apologize for having to press for a decision immediately, but time is critical; Dr. Voigt has two choices. She can withdraw and close, or she can continue her attempt to excise the lesion and repair any connective damage. She needs to know your wishes before she proceeds.”

Katie moved beside Gwynne, squeezing her hand. “Mother, Chris was already terminal. The  _only_  chance Chris has to survive is to allow the doctor and her team to do their jobs. Please, Mother...Daddy. Let them finish. I truly believe that’s what Chris would want. Don’t you?”

“Zach,” Robert turned to me. “What is your opinion, son? You’re Chris’s family now, too. I think he’d expect us to make sure you’re included in this decision.”

I was overwhelmed by such a weighty responsibility—I'd never been accountable for another person’s life. But my heart knew there was only one option. “I have to agree with Katherine. If the surgeon continues, yes, we might lose Chris. But if she doesn’t, we definitely lose him and it’s all over. This doctor is Chris’s only hope. I vote, continue.”

“Well, there you have it, Ms. Engel. Tell Dr. Voigt thank you for bringing Chris back. And instruct her to please proceed.” Robert’s eyes were dark with torment.

As Ms. Engel left, he whispered, “I hope I haven’t just condemned my son to die.”

“Daddy, No. Chris was already condemned. You’ve just given him the only chance he has to live.”

...................................

It was another three hours before Dr. Voigt herself came to us with her interpreter. “We’ve just completed closing. There were no more problems with Chris’s heart or other body functions, so that's very good news. We successfully located the lesion and removed it, along with any surrounding infarct tissue. He has been moved to recovery and is under constant monitoring.

“Chris will not be awake for several hours minimally; however, it could take much longer, even days. We will all have to wait and see what happens at this point, but I am guardedly optimistic. I have arranged for each of you to visit him, one at a time, for no more than five minutes each, starting in one hour. After that, we will see how he is progressing.”

Katie then asked the most crucial question we'd all been avoiding. “Doctor, is there any chance Chris might suffer some permanent brain damage, especially after the cardiac arrest? Or might other areas of his body still become affected as his brain heals?”

“I believe there is no more than a 20% chance of further damage incurred by the surgery itself. Our robot-directed lasers are incredibly accurate. But we’ll know much more when Chris awakes and we can run further tests.”

Now began the most challenging part for us. Waiting for those sparkling, vibrant blue eyes to open. 


	16. Epilogue

“...In sickness and in health, till death dost not part us for many, many decades to come.”

A few snickers sprinkle among our small group of wedding guests who know what Chris has been through this past year, as birdsong from the peach trees by the back fence serenades us. We’ve been entertained frequently lately, watching Robert try to scare and shoo the cute winged thieves away from his prized peaches, a battle he has finally conceded. Fortunately for all of us though, the birds stay back there away from our heads as the unusually warm and muggy noontime September LA weather smiles on our nuptials with a gentle breeze.

I don’t care what anyone watching thinks—I reach both hands up to cup Chris’s beautiful face, glowing back at me with so much love, and plant a quick kiss on his luminous smile. Which means I pretty much kiss his teeth. I still don’t care. I’ll take that luscious mouth any way I can get it, even if we haven’t yet reached the traditional part of our wedding ceremony for _the kiss_. That’s okay, I’ll catch my hot new husband’s lips as soon as the officiant pronounces our marriage official. And millions of times after that...for as long as we both shall live. I then slide Chris’s simple platinum wedding band on his finger and bring it to my lips, mirroring Chris’s actions only moments before.

Chris is stunning in his elegant black Lauren tuxedo, filling me again with awe that this man has chosen me to spend his life with. My own Lauren is a bit more colorful, in a complementary style. Joe has already taken tons of photos, a few of which will be released to the media tomorrow at a press conference held by a family spokesperson, announcing our marriage. Our friends and family dependably had honored our request for discretion, throughout our engagement and Chris’s rehabilitation, and we’ve made it this far with the paps in total ignorance of both.

His hair has filled back in almost completely, hiding the scars of his surgery, and though his recovery is not yet 100 percent, Dr. Voigt assures us it is imminent. The public will soon know of Chris’s medical journey, as Dr. Voigt and her team submit their findings and the details of Chris’s groundbreaking surgery to medical journals around the world. Chris has already made sizable donations to the research institute and has asked to become their international spokesperson, raising funds for others with his or other brain syndromes in hopes families all over the world will come and receive the same kind of care and family support he and his loved ones did during his time there.

As it turns out, when Chris and I made our engagement official to our families, my fiancé revealed his secret desire for a simple, small backyard wedding behind his parents’ home, leaving Robert’s Vegas idea to morph into a third, or maybe it's their fourth, honeymoon for Gwynne and him. They’ll leave for Nevada tomorrow, where Chris and I will join them in a few days, for the first of many honeymoons my new husband and I have planned for our future.

Even more poignant, Chris came up with the perfect date for our wedding: September 6, the day of his parent’s golden wedding anniversary. The day he’d been told he might never live to see.

And yet, here we stand, facing each other, pledging our lives to one another. I’ve never felt such contentment...such joy. The long years of yearning are over. This incredible man before me is finally my life.

But...BUT WAIT! 

Oh my God! Now—when it’s finally time for the officiant to pronounce us married—Chris is turning...oh my God! He's walking away! A chill of horror shoots down my spine as it suddenly feels like our Sarabeth breakfast all over again.

He's gotten this far into our ceremony and then changes his mind without saying a word to me? After everything we’ve been through the past few months? Time has stopped...everything is blurry...I...can't breathe...

Dazed, I watch Robert and Gwynne stand and move quickly toward Chris. I spiral into panic, trying to figure out what’s happening. Is he having second thoughts? Or is this something new, something worse? A seizure of some kind? Has all this planning and activity been physically too much pressure, too much stress, so soon after his surgery? Dammit, we should have eloped to Vegas, like Robert suggested. When would I learn to listen to Mr. Pine's wisdom?

Do I run to Chris? I quickly pat my suit pockets for my phone, thinking to call 9-1-1 and then realize shit! I didn't bring it out here. Who brings a phone with them to their marriage ceremony? Or are his parents dialing as I flounder lost and frozen with dread?

Then I see Chris smirk and reach behind the base of the tropical flowers archway curved above us, as his parents pull out two hidden stools. Chris is maneuvering...that little shit!...to loop his guitar strap over his shoulder. Gwynne and Robert bring the stools over to where I’m standing, indicating for me to sit, as Chris comes back and settles onto the other one.

The idiot is grinning at me like he’s just pulled off the world’s biggest prank.

“Zachary, weeks ago as I sat in the shade watching you work in our garden, you were humming a song I couldn’t quite place. I called Mom and hummed what I could remember, and she instantly knew the name; it was a song she had loved when she was younger, very popular a couple of years after she and Dad were married.

“I downloaded it and realized it’s one of the most beautiful love songs I’ve ever heard. And the lyrics are just so fitting for us that I decided to learn it and sing it to you today. I mean...if I can get through it.”

That’s my Chris. After the entire family promised no more secrets from each other, the Pines and Katie are sitting over there grinning, like co-conspirators pulling off wedding-gate or something.

I'd promised myself for weeks I’d get through this ceremony without crying. And here, Chris blows that to shit. I glance at our Star Trek family sitting about halfway back, Zoe, John, Simon and Karl openly flaunting it as they exchange currency. Apparently, I’m the only one who didn’t know Cryfest was officially a bet on the table.

Chris clears his throat, eyes shimmering with tears. How did he ever think he'd be able to sing in his own wedding? But he begins the familiar strains, “If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can’t I paint you? The words would never show the you I’ve come to know...”

Bless my Mom's heart—she sneaks up to me to share her wad of tissues, pressing them into my hand and kissing me on the cheek. I look up to her with gratitude, but wishing she’d brought the entire box instead. Every time I look in Chris’s eyes, more tears gush to the front, as the love of my life caresses my soul with each word.

I'm impressed that Chris only has to stop twice when the tears choke him too much to sing without breaking for a second. When he finishes, he gently lays his guitar to the side and stands, offering his hand to me to join him. As I do, Chris pulls me tight to him, both of us weeping into each other’s shoulders. The officiant gives up on following his script, as he realizes he lost control of this ceremony long ago. He lays a hand on each of our shoulders, pronouncing us Mr. and Mr. Quinto-Pine, as our loved ones also stand, cheering and applauding, Karl’s ear-splitting whistles cutting through all of it.

So instead of _the kiss_ , we have _the embrace_ , as both of us are weeping too much to catch our breath enough to kiss right now.

It’s okay. We’ll make up for it later, when I'll be covering every inch of this man with more kisses than either of us could ever count.

Because of the intricate nature of his brain surgery, I've been obsessively protective of Chris throughout the weeks of his recovery, and though no one would ever believe we've remained impatiently celibate as Chris healed, we have. Our wedding night will be the hot, erotic fantasy we’ve both been waiting for, having finally received Dr. Voigt’s official medical release to safely and fully consummate our love, as long as Chris feels well enough after this very full and festive day.

After all, we will cut our wedding cake and serve a light lunch to our guests, and then we’ll all relocate to the Ritz-Carlton downtown for the huge “surprise” golden anniversary celebration Chris and Katherine finally did get around to planning for their parents tonight.  
  
. . . . . . . .

“Daddy, Daddy. Push higher. Daddy watch me! Higher!”

Christa Margaret Quinto-Pine squeals and giggles, kicking in the air; soft blond wisps escaping her little ponytail as I tentatively push her safety swing a little bit higher. Our precocious 3-year-old daughter’s crystal blue eyes glisten in the sunlight as she swoops through the air with her cute, squeaky little girl roar, pretending to be a Tiger Swallowtail butterfly like she’d colored yesterday with her Grandma Margot. They are her favorite because their tails are lined with little blue spots that look like her and her daddy’s eyes and, she has decided, they are secretly very strong and roar like a tiger as they fly.

Both Christa and her almost twin brother, Quinn Whitelaw Quinto-Pine, had begged us all week to bring them here to the zoo and Griffith park for their combined birthday parties today, rather than be confined to the ridiculously extensive playground equipment Chris and I had argued over, struggling to assemble and install ourselves in our own backyard, at the foot of the flourishing grape orchard.

“Look Daddy, there’s Daddy!” Christa yells, pointing at Christopher who is clutching a wiggly Quinn in his arms as they return from the restroom down the trail. “Down, Daddy, want down!” I grab the chains and gently slow my little girl to a stop, lifting her out of the seat. Quinn squirms and almost propels out of Chris’s arms, imitating his sister’s plea to be let down. As the siblings run to each other, Quinn calls, “Christa! Merry-go-round! See merry-go-round!” They join hands and start running toward their second favorite ride here; though neither has ever been on the thing, it seems to beckon to them mystically.

“No, guys, no! Wait! You're not big enough for that one yet!” Chris jogs to get ahead of our beautiful, dark haired son, whom Chris swears is the spitting image of his father. Chris desperately tries to grab Quinn's hand or shirt to corral him within this designated younger kids’ area. I also run to head them off at the gate. When we reach our babies, Chris laughs, “Lord, I wish I had their energy! How are we ever going to keep up with these little guys?” I pull him in for a quick hug, never taking my eyes off our miniature escapees.

“We knew this would be a challenge when we decided to have each of the surrogate mothers impregnated at the same time. You wanted twins!” I chide.

“We were both getting older, Z. We’d waited so long and I just didn’t want to take any chances and wait any more. Although, I don’t remember you putting up much of an argument at the time. In fact, I don't seem to recall any argument at all!”

“True enough," I nuzzle into his ear. "Nonetheless, babe, we're getting away, just the two of us, soon! Promise me. We have all these grandparents and aunts and an uncle to help out, and we haven’t had a good night’s sleep in three years, not to mention a good...” I lean over to my husband’s ear and whisper the rest, causing him to blush a little. “Chris! How can you still blush every time I mention...you know...taking you apart?”

We had both learned early on that having small ones around who both were not only bright and inquisitive, but could probably make us a fortune as the world’s smallest impersonators who repeat every word Chris and I say, meant the language around our house had to dramatically change to euphemisms such as fudgesicles and sugarplums.

“Could be I blush because it happens so infrequently any more since these little guys were born, I feel like a newlywed every time you mention it. You know, I seem to recall a half-as...I mean, half-appled marriage proposal about four years ago, when you mentioned something about fudgesicling me all over the world? What happened with _that_ Zachy?”

“Oh, he’s right here below the surface, beautiful!  What do you say we catch a flight to—“

“Daddy, I need go potty now!” Christa is suddenly dancing in place, pulling on both Chris’s and my hands, not caring which dad takes her, as long as it's NOW.

I give Chris that exasperated look he knows so well, that of course she didn’t need to go when her brother went. “It’s my turn. I’ll take her. We’ll meet you at the picnic tables when we’re done.”

“Don’t take too long. It’s almost time for you-know-who to show up with all the party stuff.”

“Party stuff? Don’t need go potty now, Daddy. Grandma and Grandma and Grandpa be here?” Christa is jumping up and down, and I know that in spite of her sudden protests, if I don’t grab her and run right now, we’ll be due for a clean-up and change of clothes any second. “Be right back, you two.”

When Christa and I return, we see that everyone has arrived and unloaded their vehicles while we were gone; After lots of smiles and hugs and kisses, Mom and Gwynne claim the closest empty tables and start instructing everyone how to lay everything out. Chris and I haul our overly-excited squirmy children up on our shoulders and watch while the families, including an almost ready to pop Samantha, due with her and Joe's baby son at the end of the month, arrange the decorations, plus two cakes and large bags holding brightly wrapped birthday presents, each color-coded to Christa’s and Quinn’s favorite hues. Meanwhile, Robert and Joe handle the important tasks of shooting endless pictures and video marking the occasion.

I just shake my head and wrap my arm around Chris’s waist, my other hand tightly holding onto Quinn. I can’t believe this is my life now. How did I ever get so lucky to arrive at this moment? Married to an amazing man I love more than life itself; two crazy, wild, bright and healthy children, and the most fun and loving and supportive family anyone could ever want.

"If a man could be two places at one time I'd be with you, tomorrow and today, beside you all the way."

  
[ ](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QtwCKuoPXMI/XN8wHWOqakI/AAAAAAAACqM/AKfISvukVy4_f0xDBjjLHbzHrkYH33ejACLcBGAs/s1600/Butterfly.png)

Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly  _(Papilio glaucus)_  


  
[ ](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p3DjboCUd8k/Xbt1H1Iel1I/AAAAAAAACxY/JIZqUtwg_YUhVetHpKPypQ-d2Ds_3Sr8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/CPInsickness.png)

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and joining me in my Pinto fantasy.  
> Special thanks to IVANW for inserting the pictures. I still don't know how to do that!
> 
> (and yes, I know that's not Z in the RL pic with Chris...but pretending here is obviously ok)
> 
> Kudos and comments are gold and diamonds to me and I'm very grateful for each and every one!


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